


Kisses Come Full Circle

by birdie7272



Series: Love Spells [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Marriage, Accidental Voyeurism, Angst, Angst and Feels, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Dark Merlin (Merlin), Gwen is a cinnamon roll, I swear, Kinda, Love Spell, M/M, Merlin is a really bad assassin, Merthur - Freeform, Mildly Dubious Consent, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Oblivious Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Oops, Slow Burn, Smut, love to hate OC, my fav thing to do is torture, you and my characters, you'll make it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:54:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24864151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdie7272/pseuds/birdie7272
Summary: An inconvenient love spell.  A series of lies and threats.  A charming villain winding its way into the heart of Camelot.Merlin has to face it.Merlin clutched the empty bucket.  His fingers slipped along the inside.  He wanted to share the truth with Arthur.  He always did.  Bare himself open.  To all Arthur’s criticism and hatred in order to share all of what was inside.  To show him his dedication and devotion and love, spell or not.That was a selfish desire.This too would be a battle for Merlin and Merlin alone.Completely alone.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: Love Spells [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1798870
Comments: 141
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter 1

“I don’t understand.” Merlin stood in the forest. A nice forest. It was on the outskirts of Camelot. Green and dewy and even a bit of fog. Very mystic. Which was very appropriate for the conversation he found himself in. “You want me to place a love spell... on myself... to fall in love… with you.”

A girl. A nice looking girl. Maybe thirty years of age at most. She had soft, round eyes and plenty of adorable freckles. Easily classified as good looking. No need for a spell to find her someone to love. That was if you could get over the horns growing from the top of her head. Bone white and smooth, they sprung out of her hair and took the shape of young buck antlers. To be honest, they were kind of cute. 

“Yes,” she said, pleasantly enough in her bold, teasing accent from a faraway land.

Merlin waited, arms open, palms up. When she simply stared at him with her wide, brown eyes, he sighed and asked, “Am I not good enough to woo? Why?”

She cocked her head to the side and pushed her golden hair back. “Because I don’t have magic and you do.”

Merlin looked up at the horns and back down again. “Alright. But that still doesn’t explain why.”

She pursed her lips and asked as kindly as she could, “Are you thick?”

Merlin sighed. “People keep asking me that.”

She nodded, as if agreeing with the lot of them. “I need your complete and utter devotion.”

“So I can spy on Camelot,” Merlin finished for her. This would not be the first nor the last time someone approached him with offers of jewels or freedom if he spied on his kingdom. 

She smiled at him and clapped as if it were a great achievement that he guessed her plan. “The Prince specifically.”

“So I can tell you everything I know and you can take over,” Merlin added. He really was not _that_ thick.

“I don’t understand what’s so hard about this.” She shrugged her shoulders and batted her lashes at him.

Merlin looked around the greenery surrounding them. He had hoped someone would have realized his kidnapping by now. Sure, he was a servant, but he was the Prince’s servant. In many ways that made him very important... in the serving quarters. 

Arthur would not notice him gone for another three days probably. Someone would make sure he was fed and that would be enough for Arthur. It would only take until the knight had no one to practice beating up during training that he would notice his punching bag was gone. Stolen in the middle of the night because a girl was lost and wounded and claimed she needed Merlin’s help. 

“No?” Merlin said. 

“Yes,” she corrected politely and held out a piece of parchment. “Here’s the spell.”

Merlin stared at the parchment, then at her. This exchange was far too pleasant and calm. Usually there was a lot more fighting and pain and magic involved when Merlin defended Arthur. “I’m not going to put a love spell on myself.”

She smiled and jiggled the parchment. “You are.”

Merlin looked around again, this time hoping for at least a witness to this lunacy. A squirrel would do. “I’m not.”

“You are.” She smiled the same idyllic smile. “Or I’ll kill your mum.”

Anger flashed like lightning. Merlin’s jaw clenched as the heat of it swelled. His fingers flexed as his magic itched to smother this creature into the ground. Never again would his mother's life be threatened. He swore it. Her pleasantries would do nothing to stop him destroying her. “You’ll regret that threat.”

“I will not,” she continued serenely, as if Merlin were not on the verge of ripping her limps off with a flick of his wrist. “I really don’t want to kill your mum, Emrys. Hunith, right?”

Merlin could not stop himself from assailing, physically holding himself back at the names revealed. Muscles taught, jaw clenched, magic coiled. How much did this woman know?

The creature continued, “Mortal woman. Lovely lady, really. She offered me nettle tea the moment I met her. Said I looked properly run down. I think I slept in your old bed, Emrys. It wobbles. Had me seasick by morning.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. He quickly spun toward the treeline surrounding their patch of dirt and ripped a perfectly healthy branch from the trunk. Gold sparked as it burst into thousands of shards with a crack of thunder. “If you so much as touched a hair on her head I’ll have you regretting the first breath you took as a babe.”

The woman laughed with all charm, the sound of wooden bells and false sunlight. “Such violence, Emrys!” She shook her head and held out the parchment again. “She is in Ealdor and remains untouched. For now.”

The threat coiled around Merlin’s chest like a snake, squeezing the air from his lungs. If he killed her, would his mother live? Was there someone watching his mother now, waiting to strike? Was she lying? Was his mother already dead? Could he take the risk?

The paper was near enough that Merlin could read the words etched onto the page. A simple spell. Only a few lines. 

“I mean it,” she said. “I don’t want to kill her. I’d much rather you do the spell.”

Merlin glared at the black ink dripping down the page. “Why? Why make me? Why can’t you do it yourself? A potion even.”

“Because, Emrys,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head gently. “Spells are stronger than potions and magic is illegal in Camelot.” She scoffed, “I’m not about to be found doing something illegal.” 

Merlin glared at her deceptive doe eyes. “Prince Arthur will have your head for this.”

“Will he? Does he know of your magic then?” She waited for his response. When he had none to give she pouted at him in mock sympathy. “Seems like he’d have your head over mine.”

Merlin’s hands shook as he ripped the parchment from her. He stared at the words without really reading them. Even though the spell was not meant for Arthur directly, it was still an attack against him and Camelot. A threat to Albion.

Memories of his mother dragging herself into Camelot while covered in the boils of a magical plague of his own creation had his knees knocking. He could not do that to her again. He would not make that mistake twice. 

“You can’t do this,” Merlin hissed.

“I can.” She nodded him on. “Well, _you_ can.”

Arthur would probably think nothing of it. Think Merlin ran off with a girl and fell head over heels. Gaius would be happy for him. Gwen would encourage him. Mum would be ecstatic. No one would know. No one would blink twice. 

Will would know. Will was dead. 

“Don’t worry,” she said gently, as if calming a toddler on the brink of a tantrum. “When I help rule Camelot you will love it. You won’t have much choice, because you’ll love me, but I promise I am fair and just. One tiny war and then it’ll all be over. If you do your part, there won’t even be any bloodshed.” She shrugged and held up her fingers, pinching them in the air and gritting her teeth playfully. “Maybe. Minor bloodshed.” 

The parchment crinkled in Merlin’s fist. “You’re a horrendous witch.”

“No, Emrys, you’re the witch.” She pushed the fist with the parchment up and shoved it towards his chest. Her fingers were as cold as a dead frostbitten toe. “My name is Prisca. It’s very important you say my name clearly and look at me at the end of the spell. We don’t want you falling in love with a rock by accident.”

Prisca laughed at her own joke. 

Merlin glared.

“Say my name so I know you have it,” Prisca demanded. The kind twinkle in her eyes faded. A small sliver of inky black emptiness slithered through the facade. “Say it.”

Merlin’s jaw hurt from clenching so hard. Tears prickled behind his eyes. His magic flared at his fingers, ready to tear the entire forest down, but he forced himself to stay in control. He ground out the name as if it could curse her. “Prisca.”

“Good,” she smiled and winked at him. “Read on then. You’ll have plenty of time to groan my name in future.”

Merlin closed his eyes and a sudden tear escaped. 

Love had been a rare visitor in his life. He had never done more than steal a kiss. His own magic was about to force him to feel more, to do more, against his will.

No. Not his magic. 

Prisca.

Merlin would remember the name for her grave marker. 

Merlin slowly opened the parchment. His magic knew what he intended and rejected its misuse like a man willingly swallowing poison. Again. Magic burned like acid as it struggled to spiral up from the hole it hated to hide in. He choked on the fresh air. The words blurred. He forced himself to wipe his eyes and focus. His voice shook all the same.

“Ic i déore ánum ðú. Getenge. Mærse. No leódhete ādǣleþ. Williewilliġe beclyppe-”

Merlin looked up. The last thing to do was stare into her eyes and commit her face to memory so some part of him could wake up and remember what she had done this day. Remember to rip the life straight out of her via a blade impaling her chest.

The beginning of her name was pursing his lips when a sudden crash tore through the forest.

Merlin spun.

Arthur galloped through the brush atop his stead with his sword brandished forward. He was in full fighting garb, prepared for battle. Alone. 

Merlin gasped, “Arthur?!” He laughed and gleefully shouted, “You found me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically enough to be seen from far away while circling his horse to a stop. “You’re not a lost puppy, Merlin!”

Magic tingled. The air crackled. Merlin’s magic flashed and he gasped as it surged from within his chest. The parchment burst into flames. He dropped it and backed away quickly.

“Oh no,” Merlin whispered. Had Arthur seen that?

Prisca ran to Merlin, grabbed him around the shoulder, and looked into his eyes. Pure rage flashed over her delicate features, banishing any trace of the gentile mask she wore as a disguise. “You idiot!” A moment later the rage was gone and she doubled over, laughing.

Arthur stopped his horse and dismounted. He stared directly at Prisca’s horns but seemed unsure if he should be holding his sword aloft or not. There was no sign of any other shock or rage. He must not have seen the magic.

“Why are you laughing?” Merlin hissed at Prisca, his breaths coming in quick pants. She threw all of her weight against him and made it impossible to get to Arthur. He tried to urge Arthur towards the attack with his jaw. 

“Why are you not laughing?” She looked back up at him and her chuckles turned obnoxious.

“What’s going on here?” Arthur asked harshly. 

Normally, that authoritative princely prat of a voice would irritate Merlin, but he really needed Arthur to get a hold of the situation. Merlin took a rough step back, nearly causing Prisca to fall on her face. “She’s a witch.”

Prisca looked up harshly, her laughter suddenly cut short. “I am not!” She turned to Arthur with her mouth wide open. “He is an idiot. I am not the witch here.” She turned her leer towards Merlin and dared him with her eyes. 

Merlin pinched his mouth shut. His head was full of cotton, his body beaded with sweat, and every breath felt like a battle, but he refused to look away from her. This was no simple accusation. Anyone accused of witchcraft was as good as dead. A simple peasant boy could see Merlin flick a fire to life and one accusal later they would be building Merlin’s pyre for the morning. He never outright accused someone like this before. To Arthur no less. His throat clicked and he swallowed around the pain in his chest. “She threatened Camelot.”

Arthur’s sword gleamed as it turned towards her.

Merlin smiled in relief. He wanted to acknowledge the trust Arthur had in him with a grateful nod, but there was no telling what this vixen would do if he so much as blinked.

Prisca sighed and turned to Arthur, doing her very best curtsy and bowing her head. “I curse the witch that put this curse on me and that alone, Your Highness. Surely _Merlin_ knows that is what I meant. I only wish to remove these devil horns from my head. No physician has yet been able to help me. I had only heard great things about Camelot’s physicians. Gaius is known for great work.” She blinked her eyes towards Merlin. 

Prisca knew of Gaius as well then. The threat was received. 

“I wish to travel to Camelot,” Prisca continued. “Merlin was helping me but misunderstood my frustrations. He seems a bit thick, Sire.”

Merlin tore his eyes from her to look at Arthur. There was no chance he was falling for this dreadful lie. He would run her through any second. 

The moment Merlin landed his gaze on Arthur a glow started to throb. It pulsed around Arthur’s golden hair and radiated outwards. The light grew too bright. The world spun. Merlin swayed one way, then the other. 

“Merlin?” Arthur asked. Sword down. 

“Merlin?” Prisca called, hiding her giant grin from Arthur. 

“Damn.” Merlin fell backward, slamming his head onto the earth. He nearly hit the rock.

Prisca was above him a moment later, patting his cheek harshly. Arthur was somewhere above her but the blur from the light was too great to see his face. 

“Don’t worry,” Prisca said. She bared her teeth at Merlin and brushed his temple with her cold fingers. “I’ll help you carry him back to Camelot. Sweet dreams, Merlin.” 

Merlin opened his mouth to scream but the world turned to black. 

~~\\\v.v//~~

It took Merlin multiple attempts to wake up. He pinched his brows down and blinked through the heavy fog that seemed to swirl above him. When he could finally open his eyes he saw his room. The floor of his room. His neck ached. His head was hanging off the edge of his cot. 

The groan that rolled out of him was pathetic. He pushed off the floor and flopped onto his pillows, cradling his aching neck. That dream had been horrible. Tear tracks made his eyes ache and his face sticky. He wiped at his brows with his fingers until the world came into focus. 

Nightmares like those were too real. The anguish still pulled deep within his chest. The memory of the spell, magic taking all choice from him. Sending someone who might not have magic to the stake and the mercy of Uther Pendragon. Not knowing if his mum would be safe or suffer if he killed his enemy. It was enough to have him tearing up again. Did Morgana feel this way after her visions? Hopefully that was not a glimpse into his future.

Merlin looked to the window in his room. It was still night but the blue light of dawn was ebbing into the sky. There would be no sleeping after that dream and he needed to tend to Arthur anyway. 

Merlin got up, snuck past Gaius, and entered the kitchens early. Cook eyed him briefly and Merlin nodded at her. He stayed in the corner of the room by the flour while she prepared meats. He poked at the sack and watched the powder puff into the air over and over until Cook returned. She shook him out of his self-pity with a smack on his shoulder. He quickly gathered Arthur’s breakfast and ran from the room, or else face her morning ire. 

The castle was peaceful. The other servants were being quiet out of respect and the guards were silently watching their every move. Merlin had never woken so early or been so on time for his duties. It made him feel like a proper servant. Arthur would be proud.

Merlin carefully opened the door to Arthur’s rooms and placed the tray of food gently on the table. Arthur left a mess! Clothes and weapons and mud everywhere! Merlin got to work silently picking up. By the time he was done, the sun was starting to peak. 

Normally, Merlin would wake Arthur by throwing one of the pots against the door and shouting. Maybe he would throw a hunk of bread at Arthur’s face and claim breakfast in bed was exactly what he wanted -half hoping Arthur would throw it right back so he could claim it as his own. 

Today was a day for training. Arthur would not appreciate being woken harshly when he had to be up and ready to fight. Even though Merlin would usually scare him, preparing him for sneak attacks, Arthur did deserve a good night's rest. Besides, Arthur would be grateful Merlin did his job on time _and_ woke him respectfully. Maybe a feast would be thrown in Merlin's honor? Stranger things had happened. 

Merlin approached the bed slowly. Arthur had his head fully under the pillows. Half of the blankets were off his body. He always did that when the nights grew warmer. His shirt was off and his back was open to the air in the room. Toned muscles carved from hard work arched into the air and swooped under the red threads. 

Merlin quickly opened the window to allow a gentle breeze to flow inside. He watched Arthur shift as goosebumps formed over his spine. Arthur hummed and Merlin smiled. 

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered. “It’s time to get up.”

Merlin crept toward the bed and took the pillows away, one by one, gently stacking them on the floor. Arthur was still fast asleep, mouth open, head pillowed against his arms, hair falling into his face. Merlin smiled and ran his fingers over Arthur’s forehead, pushing that hair out of his eyes. 

“Arthur?” He whispered again. 

Arthur’s eyes slowly blinked open. He moaned and nuzzled into his bed once more before bursting awake. He grabbed Merlin by the wrist and jolted upright, slamming Merlin’s middle into the bed and dragging him down. 

Merlin gaped as he found himself face to face with a very confused and drowsy prince. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, for all the world looking as though Merlin was attempting to paint his face with Morgana’s pigments and not simply waking him from sleep. 

Merlin’s eyes fell to where Arthur’s fingers were pressed against his pulse and watched the power of his beating heart move the pads of Arthur’s thumb. “Um. Waking you?” Merlin said automatically. 

Arthur was always warm blooded. A warmth that radiated out of him in everything he did. Even his smile was full of the warmth of a thousand candles. His hair, a golden sunset. His eyes, the same shade as a summer sky. 

Arthur squinted at Merlin’s gaze shifting to each of his features and thrust him away, letting him go. “I’m up.”

Merlin shook his head and nodded in the same breath. “Yes, I’ve brought you breakfast.”

Arthur was still squinting as he looked to Merlin, to the sky, and then to the table. “Merlin.”

Merlin's heart thumped in his chest. 

“Are you ill?”

Merlin laughed briefly. “No. Why?”

Arthur scanned his body from afar and quickly rose, marching into Merlin’s space and eyeing his cheeks closely. “You are never this competent.” 

Merlin felt himself blush. 

Arthur leaned back. He tilted his head and his neck pulled taught on a yawn, veins bulging towards his exposed pecks. “Are you sure? You were in the woods for some time. You might have caught a cold.” He frowned. “You look flush.” 

Merlin’s brow pinched, still staring down at the patches of hair that spiraled from Arthur’s chest. Had he? He could barely remember the day before or the day before that. The haze of his dream had yet to leave him. When did he go into the woods? He had to grab something for Gaius, surely. 

“I’m fine-” Merlin sputtered. 

“You better be. I don’t want to catch whatever diseases you have.” Arthur spun away and the warmth of him drifted too. 

Merlin breathed in a full breath for the first time all morning and closed his eyes. Perhaps he was a bit faint. The world was spinning and his neck still ached. 

Arthur looked out the window and into the courtyard. He shook his head as another bout of breeze swirled into the room. The fresh air caught Arthur’s hair and his golden locks danced over his head. His fingers tangled in their length as he shoved it back. His hair was growing long. He would be due to have it cut soon. 

Arthur smiled briefly. “Only you would catch a cold in the warmth of spring.”

Merlin smiled at his smile. “I am one of a kind.”

Arthur swept away from the window and collapsed into his chair, pulling his breakfast close. “One of a kind doesn’t begin to cover it.”

Merlin’s heart thumped again. 

Perhaps it was an illness. 

There was a part of Merlin that found joy in Arthur’s enjoyment over his food. The way he licked the fat of the meat off his lips and hummed at the cheese on his bread. Merlin quickly grabbed the jug to pour him some wine when a smell hit him. 

The smell must have swept in from the window. It was more delicious than the meat and more fragrant than the flowers outside. It was like woodsmoke and rain or bulrush and hay. It was enticing and altogether strange to drive Merlin’s stomach to rumble. The odor enveloped him from every angle and he closed his eyes to focus solely on the peculiar complexity. His body swayed and when he opened his eyes, his nose was in Arthur’s hair. 

Merlin froze. 

Arthur froze 

Merlin breathed in again and his eyes fluttered. His body melted and his blood ran hot. He tripped backwards. 

Arthur’s eyes bulged from his skull. 

Merlin clutched the cool water jug to his chest. 

He sniffed Arthur. 

He sniffed Arthur and he liked it. 

He sniffed Arthur and he wanted to do it again. 

“I’m going to see Gaius!” Merlin squeaked. 

“You do that!” Arthur commanded, terror still evident on his face. 

Merlin ran for the hall, still clutching the jug. 

He stared at Arthur while he slept. He pet his temple. He compared his smile to a thousand candles. He watched his flowing locks. He compared his smell to woodsmoke and hay. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

Merlin crashed into Gaius’ workshop. The door slammed into the wall. 

Gaius spun and chastised, “Merlin!”

A girl sat at the table opposite him, a spoonful of porridge nearing her mouth. She was unaffected by the sudden outburst. Her bright brown eyes twinkled. Her hair was shrouded by a Pendragon red wrap that twisted upon her head. One of Merlin’s larger shirts swallowed her body. She waved happily. “Merlin!”

Merlin dropped the jug. “Prisca.”

~~``>o<``~~

Saying her name felt like a curse. Water soaked his trousers as he picked up the shards of clay. Gaius grabbed the broom. Merlin glared at Prisca from the floor. 

Prisca was real and she was in his home wearing his clothes and eating his breakfast. She was smiling as she did it. 

Merlin had been in those woods. Prisca had lured him out and forced him to do a love spell. Only he felt no love for her. His heart pounded with the need to grab her by the horns and hold her head under water. She threatened his family, threatened Camelot, and she threatened his Arthur. 

Merlin mopped the water with a rag, grinding the fabric into the stone. 

Prisca wore a smug smirk on her face as she ate at his table. 

Merlin had not said Prisca’s name and looked at her at the spell’s end. He had seen Arthur, said Arthur’s name, and looked at him as he rode in on his horse. 

Merlin supposed he should be grateful he had not looked at the horse. 

Merlin hissed. A shard of clay sliced his palm. A small red ribbon of blood beaded into his hand. 

“Careful!” Prisca reproached, her face full of forced concern. “You don’t want to stain this floor in blood.” Her eyes flickered to Gaius, as if Merlin needed the reminder that she threatened his life too. 

Gaius was there in a moment. “Let me see.” 

Merlin gave his hand over willingly and allowed Gaius to twist it around and see it was nothing more than a scratch. He announced as much and asked Merlin if he was alright but Merlin could barely hear him. 

“Fine,” Merlin ground out, still glaring at Prisca. “I slipped.”

“So clumsy, Merlin!” Prisca teased jovially. “Come sit and eat before you knock yourself out!”

Gaius agreed with her and watched Merlin carefully as he sat. Gaius then announced he was needed in the lower town to prepare. 

The annual Beltane celebration was a three day festival scheduled that week. It was a grand event meant for only the residents of Camelot. It was a chance to celebrate living through winter and the fertility of the land and its people. With food aplenty, alcohol flowing freely, and love in the air, people often paired up at this time of year, damn the consequences or any witnesses. It was a perfect time for love spells. 

Gaius was going to have his own booth this year, selling his ointments and medicines to those that may not have access to them or the care of a physician readily available. He needed to meet with other sellers, gather supplies, and keep his normal rounds. 

Merlin sat, never taking his eyes off Prisca. She did him the honor of returning his stare until Gaius left the room. 

Merlin grabbed the knife on the table.

Prisca slammed her hand on top of his. “You don’t want to do that.”

“I don’t?” Merlin asked, his teeth bared, a scowl making his vision blur red. 

“No.” She squeezed his hand hard. 

It stung his cut but he did not remove his hand from the hilt of the very dull knife. 

Prisca smiled sweetly. “I am here on the Crowned Prince’s authority. He has personally offered me safe passage and promised to help me with my cause.” She smirked and tilted her head. “You cannot kill me or you will face Arthur’s wrath and no doubt Uther’s as well.”

Merlin clung to the blade harder. “He will listen to me.”

“Will he?” She pouted at him and scooped another spoonful of porridge into her mouth, talking around her bite. “Has he believed you in the past then? Did you not accuse me of being a witch and yet here I sit, alive and well? Are you willing to risk your life to bet that he would believe the word of his servant? After he already told his king to trust me? Would he go back on his own word for you?”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Prisca rolled her eyes. “Of course you would say that now, you besotted beast. But before, if you were thinking clearly and were not in love with him. Would you?”

Merlin squinted his eyes shut. The very idea that he was in love with Arthur was as ridiculous as it got. But he could not help remembering the way his heart leapt every time Arthur said his name. He was sure he had always trusted Arthur like this, that Arthur would protect and believe in him as he would any one of his people. He was sure of it. He was sure. 

Prisca took advantage of his silence. “You present no proof, Emrys. Would you force Arthur to go to his father with no proof of my wrongdoing? Do you know what that would do to him? To his reputation?” 

Merlin shook his head. He could not think straight. The haze of the morning was clinging to his every thought. 

“I have won their favour,” Prisca said. “You have not. I have done nothing wrong in their eyes.”

“You put a spell on me,” Merlin growled. 

“I did no such thing!” Prisca gasped. “I have no magic.”

Merlin clung to his temple with his free hand. 

Prisca was relentless. “Uther was very sympathetic when I told him what that witch did to me. If he were to find out a witch lived in his very castle, I can only imagine what he would do. What Arthur would do.”

“I am not a witch!” Merlin yelped.

“Warlock!” Prisca yelped back. “Same result, Emrys. I am under Camelot’s protection thanks to you. Arthur even said he was impressed by you having rescued me.”

Merlin could not stop his heart thumping at hearing those words, lies they were. 

“If you were to kill me,” Prisca said, “You would make them all look a fool and you would die for the crime.” She shrugged. “Not to mention I am the only one that knows the antidote to your love spell.”

Merlin’s breaths were sharp and hard. The room began to spin once again. His palm stung as the blade trembled between his fingers. He willed Gaius to return. Gaius would believe him. Gaius would help him solve this. 

Prisca sighed and squeezed his hand, as if comforting him. “This should go without me needing to say so, Emrys, but as you are a bit thick I will say it anyway.” She waited patiently until Merlin was glaring up at her once again. “If you tell anyone about me, I will tell everyone about your magic and you will die. If you tell anyone about me, Hunith and Gaius will die. Better yet, if you tell anyone about me and why I am truly here, Arthur will die as well, but only after learning about your magic and your betrayal. I give you my word. I am no fool, Emrys. I will not go back on mine.”

Prisca let go of his hand. 

Merlin pulled the blade from the table and held it against her throat. 

Prisca grabbed another spoonful of porridge and shoved it into her mouth. 

Merlin’s hand shook violently. 

The silver of the knife bumped against her flesh. 

Prisca chewed her food. 

The blade crashed onto the table top. 

Merlin fell forward and heaved in breaths of air. 

“You should eat,” she said calmly. “It’s getting cold.”


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin stared at Arthur’s closed doors. His heart rapidly thumped in his chest as if someone dosed him with the mushrooms Gaius saved for nights he needed to stay up researching. 

Love spells were not uncommon for Merlin. He did plenty of research when Arthur fell under the spell with the Lady Vivian. Merlin remembered their attraction with perfect clarity. Their need to be on top of each other, tongues inside each other. The thought of him doing that to Arthur had his skin on fire. 

That was a difference. Merlin did not feel the drive to write poetry or declare undying passion or strip down and lay on Arthur’s bed. This love spell was subtle, drifting somewhere deep in his chest and fluttering to the surface any time he thought about the prince. It was as natural as breathing and that terrified Merlin. The knowledge that he was the one who put the spell on himself helped him find the calm in his tremulous thoughts. 

If he truly focused and pulled his magic forward he could smother the temptation to give in to the thump of his traitorous heart. His eyes simmered in gold and he laid a hand on his chest. The cold of his fingers seeped onto his skin and his magic pulled it inside, blanketing the spell like the first fresh snowfall of winter. But snow melted. The instant he opened the door and breathed in Arthur’s scent the heat overwhelmed him once again. 

Arthur was out of the room but would return shortly. Merlin brought armor with him. Training would start soon. 

Merlin waded into the room and stopped at the foot of the bed. The pillows were still on the floor and the blankets were a mess. Merlin pulled at the corners of the sheets and fluffed them into place, bending over to tuck them in. So close to the bedclothes, he could see a shadow of Arthur’s body in the dip of the bed. His body floated down. His center pressed against the edge of the bed. His elbows kept him poised inches over the smell that wafted straight to his core. If he closed his eyes it would be just like that morning. Arthur there, gripping his wrist, pulling him close. Merlin laid his head against the bed and allowed his eyes to shut. The musky smell of Arthur clung to him, cradled his cheeks. His body flushed with new heat and his cock twitched.

Arthur stormed into the room. “Merlin! When are you- What are you doing? Were you sleeping?!”

Merlin’s eyes flung open and he bolted upright, tucking in the edge of the bed with newfound haste. “Nothing! Making your bed, Sire!”

Arthur sounded confused. “Training starts soon.”

“I’ll help you dress in a moment, Sire!” Merlin bent towards the pillows and willed his cock to go back down. One moment he was thankful for the lack of animalistic attraction and it was as if the spell heard him and needed to betray him at its earliest convenience. 

The thought of touching a man in that way was never something he would have considered before and yet thinking of Arthur… was making it worse! He held a pillow to his crotch and pinched his cut palm. The pain barely helped. 

Merlin's head suddenly flung forward. 

Arthur stood over him with his arms crossed. 

“Did you just hit me?” Merlin cried. 

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t move!” Arthur shook his head and pointed to the armor laid out on the table. “Come on! Idiot.”

Merlin gaped at him and stood. His… problem… had receded thanks to the gull of an impatient prat, but all he could feel at being called an idiot was a sort of proud annoyance. Was that how he felt before? He had trouble remembering. 

Arthur stood with his arms out, waiting to be donned with armor like the perfect statue of a god-like knight. 

God-like? Perhaps the reason Merlin was not reciting poetry was because he did not have a good enough grasp on adjectives and could come up with nothing better than comparing Arthur to a god. His ego was large enough as it was, thank you. 

Merlin closed his eyes and cursed the existence of magic in a way he had not done in years. He slid the chainmail into place and swept his fingers over Arthur’s shirt to keep the metal from touching his skin. Everywhere the pads of his fingers danced, Arthur’s muscles twitched. Even through the fabric of his shirt he could feel the peaks and valleys of every curve. The taught pull of skin hypnotized him as he dragged his palms over biceps, shoulders, and back. He felt himself sway towards smelling Arthur’s neck and shook his head, forcing himself to focus on attaching the rest of the armor. When everything was buckled into place he stepped back to hold Arthur’s sword up, bowing his head and waiting for him to take it. 

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, confused again. 

Merlin felt his cheeks heat. Why was he bending his head, bowing to his prince? It was not an odd thing to do for a servant but it was no doubt odd for him. He did not normally do this. Did he?

“Checking your boots,” Merlin said helplessly and forced his eyes upwards. 

Arthur stared at him with concern. “Did you see Gaius?”

It hurt. 

Something sharp was stabbing his heart and it hurt. 

Arthur cared for him. He cared for all of his people. But Arthur did not know Merlin was paying him more attention for the love of him. All it made Arthur do was fear for his health. 

Merlin’s love was on par with a coughing fit. 

“About your boots?” Merlin asked dumbly. 

Arthur’s mouth twitched. 

Merlin smiled fully. 

“If you feel well enough to be insubordinate, I suppose you feel well enough to come help our young trainees.” Arthur plastered on a fake grin. 

Even when fake, his smile was still something to behold. 

Merlin scowled. 

Boar dung could be something to behold as well. 

~~⤽|.|⤼~~

The weather was nice. Merlin let the sun hit his face and tried to breath. It was nearly impossible. 

Arthur was on the field and had been for at least an hour. He was demonstrating basic formation to the new recruits. He always had perfect form. 

Perfect stance, that is! His bodily form was far from perfect. He had heroic scars that marred his beautiful biceps and an adorable gap in his teeth that was visible whenever he smiled. Clearly he was a mess. How anyone found his royal highn-ass attractive was a mystery to Merlin!

Speaking of the royal ass…

Merlin’s jaw clenched and he pinched his eyes shut. 

Due to the nice day, Morgana sat upon one of the benches lining the castle next to him. Gwen stood dutifully behind her. This all would have been fine, a bit of peace even, if it were not for the fact that Morgana was tasked by Uther to look after the poor girl who had been cursed by the evil witch. 

Prisca sat beside Morgana, head wrapped in the red cloth to hide her horns, dressed in something Gwen may have once owned. 

Prisca was evil. Evil had the ability to charm. That charm worked well on Morgana. The two were laughing about the folly of men who had attempted to woo them over the years. 

“-and he,” Morgana was finishing her tale of a recent lord between her laughs. “He actually tried to feed me the entire dinner from his fingers!”

“How disgusting!” Prisca laughed with her. 

“Worse!” Morgana smiled. “There was a soup!”

The two dove into a fit of chuckles and Merlin even heard Gwen slip into a quiet laugh. 

Merlin shook the vile creature’s hollow laughter from his ears and focused on Arthur. The royal clotpole was berating a poor boy who probably did not know any better. Arthur made him run the drill ten times before he had it, only then offering him a word of praise. Merlin could not help but wonder if he would ever hear Arthur say something like that to him. 

The temptation to lay his hand on his chest and pour some dampening magic on the spell was strong but there were too many witnesses. Instead, Merlin bore the ache in his chest with a grimace and squinted at the sun. 

“What about Prince Arthur?” Prisca asked joyfully. 

Morgana blinked at her slowly, a half laugh stuck in her throat. “What about him?”

“Have you never thought-” Prisca shrugged briefly and nodded at Arthur on the field, now demonstrating all they learned in a duel with Leon. “He is the prince. You are as good as any princess, m’lady.”

Merlin felt his teeth grind. 

Morgana laughed fully. “Oh no. No, no. Arthur and I- we do not- no.”

“Why not?!” Prisca laughed with her. “He is handsome, is he not?” When Morgana did nothing more than cringe, Prisca looked over Morgana’s shoulder at Gwen. “Gwen, is he not?”

Merlin looked sideways at Gwen who had blushed a deep crimson. Her feelings for Arthur went far beyond his golden appearance. For the first time, Merlin felt he could truly sympathize with her pain. At least Arthur loved her back. 

Not that Merlin wanted to be loved back. He didn’t. 

Prsica chuckled harmlessly and looked back at the field. “It is not treasonous to say our prince is a handsome one. Quite the opposite I would think.” She turned her eyes to Merlin. 

Merlin felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach. 

“Merlin!” Prisca shouted. “Surely as my savior you must humour me with this truth.”

“Should it not be the other way around?” Merlin practically growled. “Would you not be indebted to me?”

Prisca raised her eyebrows. 

Morgana and Gwen shared a look.

Merlin hissed in a breath. 

“How right you are,” Prisca replied calmly. “I am obligated to share the truth.”

Merlin’s hands shook. He crushed his fingers into fists. “That Arthur is indeed a handsome prince.”

“Quite right!” Prisca cheered. 

Morgana and Gwen released their held breaths.

“If I were a lady of sovereignty,” Prisca sighed, “I would not hesitate at my chance to win his affections. Alas, I am but a common woman with no better chance at winning his heart than you Gwen or even you Merlin.” 

Gwen’s sharp inhale of breath and thick swallow was all Merlin could hear. Prisca knew exactly what she was doing, knew exactly how that one sentence could tear Gwen apart from the inside, with no one able to help her. Merlin stepped closer to her, unable to pull her into a hug and steal her away from the evil cow like he wanted.

Merlin was going to learn a spell that very night to steal the air from someone’s lungs. If Prisca choked on a bit of food at dinner, no one would know it was him who cast it. 

“You are no common woman,” Merlin said through gritted teeth. 

“Thank you, Merlin!” Prisca said sweetly, clutching her cheeks and playing coy. 

Morgana smiled sublimely and shook her head, staring at Arthur. “Could you imagine it? Arthur’s face if he suddenly had to fend off Merlin as well as every girl in court?”

Gwen could barely summon a chuckle, intent on focusing on the blades of grass at her feet. 

Merlin glared at Prisca, trying to imagine every other way she could disappear off the face of the earth unnoticed. 

Prisca’s smile beamed. “I would kill to see that.”

~~\ອ。อ/~~

Arthur was properly disgusting after training. Sweat dripped off his stupid angular jawline and grime coated his dumb limber fingers. They were having a royal dinner that very night in honor of their new guest. Arthur wanted a bath. 

Merlin cursed the water’s very existence right alongside magic. If he did not need to drink it, he would banish it from the kingdom altogether. As a lord to the Druids and the most powerful sorcerer of all time, he was fairly certain he could decree that. Any naysayers would be drowned! Alright, maybe that would be a bit harsh. They would be splashed with cold water while lugging a bathtub up some stairs. Then they would see!

After bringing bucket after bucket of the vile liquid to Arthur’s chambers and dumping it into the truly preposterously large tub, he hoped he would be free to leave. 

“Is any of this even necessary? Can’t you just splash your pits and move on?” Merlin moaned.

Arthur’s lips twitched but he refused to smile. 

Merlin refused to acknowledge what that little twitch did to his stomach, which was not upside down at the moment. Not at all. 

“The dinner is for a lady,” Arthur explained slowly, as if Merlin really were as thick as everyone harped on him being. “Not the brutes who fight at the bar. I will be presentable as is my duty. Now, help me with this armor and don’t make me tell you twice.”

Merlin quickly stepped forward and rounded the prince’s back. Too quick. He knew he should fight more, make Arthur as uncomfortable as possible, as was normal, but his fingers were itching to undo the buckles. Arthur looked hot. He needed to cool off as quickly as possible. That was the only reason. If Arthur passed out, Merlin would never hear the end of it. Sure.

Merlin unhooked all buckles and slowly slid the armor off. His fingers just barely passed over the sticky undershirt. He could not help his racing pulse. He licked his lips and glared at the water in the tub. Perhaps he was thirsty. Dehydration could lead to hysteria. He was a physician's apprentice. He learned that. 

Once every bit of armor was on the table he could only watch as Arthur peeled his clothes off one at a time, slowly removing the clinging fabric from his body. He had long ago forgone the privacy screen when it came to his baths. The guards were told to let no one enter and it was only Merlin inside. 

That’s what Arthur said. _Only_ Merlin. 

All of Arthur’s flesh was revealed to the sunlight streaming through the window. The shadows rolled over his absolutely-not-perfect body as he gracefully strolled towards the tub. His strong legs pulled him in and his perfect arse slipped beneath the water. He stretched and all of his muscles trembled. 

Merlin’s cock twitched. 

What the hell was this torture?! Never in his life had ever thought of a man’s arse as perfect and he was not about to start. Clearly it was too round and too pert. It made trousers ride up his ankles. Unseemly. 

With Arthur’s back turned, Merlin put his hand to his chest and quickly allowed his magic to give him a moment of peace. The cool touch spread over the cursed love spell and for a solitary moment he could think. 

Arthur was objectively perfect. Merlin heard that from every woman who had eyes to see him. The fault was not in his form but in Merlin’s thoughts. He wanted to lick up that spine and bite that neck and kiss those ears. It was insane. Arthur was sweaty and gross and muddy! It would be unhygienic. 

Merlin kept his hand on his chest and closed his eyes. “Can I go?”

“What?” Arthur whirled around. 

Water splashed onto the floor.

Merlin dropped his hand. 

The spell bubbled back to the surface.

Arthur leaned over the edge of the tub with eased nonchalance as he let his body float. “You can’t go. I need you to warm the water so I can wash my hair.” He nodded towards the pulley in front of the fire with a bucket waiting to be attached. “I can’t reach from here, now can I?”

Merlin stared at the fire that had barely been coaxed to life and sighed. The fantasies were back. Stripping down and sliding next to Arthur. Gliding their naked legs against one another. Pulling Arthur’s head against his shoulder and washing his hair for him. 

Merlin looked up at the ceiling and sighed harshly. “Can’t even wash your own hair, can you?”

Arthur pointed a single finger at him in warning. “Sit down, Merlin.”

Merlin dutifully walked to the stool waiting for him and forced himself to pay attention to the fire as Arthur dove under the water. If he happened to steal a peek as Arthur surfaced and shoved hair back from his face, well that was only to make sure his prince did not drown. If he could not wash his own hair, it was only fair to assume the idiot would lack the skills to hold his own breath.

Merlin leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the body hidden under the water. It was just too far to go and he started to slip off his stool. His eyes bulged. His leg kicked out to keep his balance and knocked over the bucket. Water spilled to the floor and he hastily tipped it upright. 

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Arthur grumbled. 

Merlin nodded. He felt the same way. 

That _way_ was quite complicated at the moment. 

Arthur bathed in silence for a while. The smell of soap filled the room. Lavender. Merlin had requested it especially for Arthur in the hopes of mocking him for smelling like a girl and quilting him into using every last inch of the bar. However, the jests were not rolling off his tongue. 

“I meant to say-” Arthur said suddenly, splashing away, before going silent again. 

Merlin spared a glance. Arthur had his fingers tangled in his too long hair, scrubbing the sweat and grime from his scalp. The biting and licking would no longer be unhygienic. Merlin quickly looked at the fire and rubbed his hot face with his hands. 

“Nothing?” Merlin asked, annoyed. “That's not like you. You're always blathering on about something.”

“That’s you, Merlin. Now, shut up.”

“But-”

“You’re proving my point, _Mer_ lin. Shut. Up.”

Merlin’s heart leapt. He squinted his eyes shut and hung his head. 

“Good job,” Arthur said. 

Merlin peeked his eyes open. An odd sort of warmth tingled down his chest and settled pleasantly in his tummy. He slowly looked over his shoulder. Arthur’s hair was in complete disarray and his hands were a lathered mess. His chest was pink from the warmth of the bathwater. He looked ridiculous. Merlin smiled wide at the sight of him. 

“At shutting up?” Merlin asked cheekily.

Arthur scoffed. “No. You’ve never been good at that.” 

Arthur beckoned to the water near the fire and Merlin stood to hand it to him. Arthur looked at his hands, back up at Merlin, and raised his brows. Merlin sighed plaintively. He gestured for Arthur to lean and tilted the water over his head and down his back, rinsing the soap from his hair. Apparently he had been upgraded to a spout. He refused to find the shimmy Arthur did to rid the muck from his ears even the least bit adorable. Refused. 

“For keeping Prisca safe,” Arthur said when the water was gone. 

Merlin instantly froze, his body chilled like ice. He looked to the door to make sure the bolt was still in place. Her threats still rang in his ear. She could unravel all of his hard work with a few words. But how would she know if he said anything? 

Merlin clutched the empty bucket. His fingers slipped along the inside. He wanted to share the truth with Arthur. He always did. Bare himself open. To all Arthur’s criticism and hatred in order to share all of what was inside. To show him his dedication and devotion and love, spell or not. 

That was a selfish desire. 

This too would be a battle for Merlin and Merlin alone.

Merlin’s voice was stilted and brisk. “What about her?”

Arthur rubbed at his chest and gestured for a drying cloth. “She told me how you found her in the woods when you were picking herbs, her ankle swollen from a fall. How you used your skills as a physician to heal her. How you stayed with her and made sure she could walk again. And how you got lost on the way back before I rescued the two of you.”

It was all true but it was all lies. 

“That was a job well done,” Arthur said. He clapped Merlin’s forearm as he took the cloth from his outstretched hand, not realizing Merlin’s lack of response was due to the tears boiling behind his eyes. 

Merlin wanted to preen under the praise but it was undeserved. He did not save anyone. He put all of Camelot at risk. His mother at risk. Gaius. Arthur himself was congratulating him while his life was in the balance. 

It was all Merlin’s fault. 

“You didn’t rescue me,” Merlin said. A bitter tone escaped his control. The creature was still there, her claws in Merlin’s chest instead of her heart on the end of Arthur’s sword.

Arthur’s smile was carefree, thinking nothing of Merlin’s discomfort. They hardly navigated conversations like this without one bordering too close to an emotion they could not handle. Again, Arthur could not see what was right in front of him. Again, Merlin felt undeserved anger at his obliviousness, instantly forgiven the moment the rag rumpled Arthur’s hair and left it a gorgeous disaster. 

Disheveled, happy, clean. Arthur deserved these things. He had enough burdens. He did not need to take on Merlin’s as well. 

“Please,” Arthur laughed. “You fainted from lack of food, you distressed damsel. Another day and the two of you would have been gnawing at the grass like rabbits. Though a rabbit has more meat on its bones than you.”

“I’d rather be a skinny rabbit than a fat prat.” Merlin bit down on his cheek and spun towards another dry cloth. His stomach fluttered as he waited for the response. Did he always get this jittery when they spoke like this? He could not remember. 

Arthur’s scoff was loud and full of good humor. “Careful, boy. Skinny rabbits make a dull meal but they are easily picked off.”

“I’ll have you know I taste delicious,” Merlin teased. His face instantly flushed as he realized what he had just said and spun to face Arthur, his mouth already open to form an excuse. 

Arthur looked up at him with uncurbed flabbergasted stupefaction. His mouth hung open, his tongue locked at the tip of his teeth. Eyes crinkled with unsaid mirth. 

Merlin felt the air leave his lungs in something that sounded horrifically close to a whimper. He tossed the dry cloth at Arthur’s head and backed to the door quickly, undoing the lock behind his back. “But for you to know, you would have to catch me. And rabbits are fast!”

Merlin bolted from the room. 

The tub splashed. Arthur laughed and called his name. 

Merlin ran faster until he reached an alcove and dove inside, pressing his body into the corner and catching his breath. 

Flirting? Was that where he was now? Openly flirting? Did he want his head off his shoulders? Was there no controlling his mouth?

His mouth could be occupied against Arthur’s. Giving him that taste. Licking the underside of that tongue and following it to his teeth. Clamping down on his shoulders and dragging him out of the tub so they could-

Merlin gasped and flung his hand on his chest and pleaded with the chill of his fingers to cool his beating heart. The spell worked, allowing him to collect himself enough to walk out from his hiding place and face the rest of his night. After all, he could only run for so long. Arthur needed to get dressed and he was a distressed damsel about his clothes when it came down to it. 

~~⌒०⌒~~

Merlin was getting better at ignoring his feelings for Arthur. He was. 

After glaring at a stone for over an hour, Merlin was certain he could force himself to get over the spell. After all, he barely noticed how Arthur smelled like the flower filled field after a fresh rainstorm. While dressing him for the dinner, he barely ran his hands down Arthur’s shirt to make sure it laid perfectly flat against his rolling stomach muscles. He barely fantasized about brushing his fingers through Arthur’s hair in front of the fire well into the night. Barely. 

Everything was fine. 

Until he saw Prisca. 

Morgana escorted her to a seat directly next to Arthur. 

Prisca bowed to Arthur before taking it. 

“Be nice,” Morgana warned Arthur before taking her own seat. 

Arthur pouted at Morgana’s back. 

“Oh my,” Prisca gasped. “This all looks amazing.” She gestured to the food and wine placed in front of them. 

They were joined by members of the court and a few visiting lords this night. The dining hall was full of people but the decorations were scant and the food was light. They had to save the rest for the celebrations later in the week. 

The fact that Prisca had a dinner in her honor at all was nothing short of witchcraft. Merlin desperately wanted to know what the meeting looked like between Prisca, Uther, Arthur, and Morgana. Gaius must have been there but he had said nothing. Why did Merlin need to go and pass out?

Arthur smiled amicably at her. “All for you.” He turned to Merlin and waved him forward with a flick of his fingers. “Merlin.”

Merlin glared at Arthur’s mischievous smirk. 

Arthur stared directly at Merlin as he informed Prisca, “My manservant will serve you as well as myself tonight. Whatever you desire. Your wish is Merlin's command.”

Merlin's fingers curled behind his back. His eyes were wide as he shook his head at Arthur. 

Arthur continued to smile, his lips tight and his joy sparkling. 

“A manservant?” Prisca asked excitedly. 

Merlin spun towards her. She wore the face of a girl who was equally overwhelmed and pleased with her luck but Merlin could see the muck of evil that swirled under the shallow water of her murky eyes. 

“I’ve never had one of those before,” Prisca cooed. She smiled at Merlin and then fully at Arthur. “I would not know what to tell him to do.”

Arthur’s chuckle was merciless. He leaned onto the table towards Prisca, bending around Merlin as if he were one with the furniture. “Anything!”

Prisca smirked and leaned towards Arthur. “Surely not anything!”

Arthur was being drawn into her bog. He leaned further towards her and slapped Merlin along the back. “What did you have in mind?”

Merlin wanted nothing more than to rip Prisca’s body back and throw Arthur into the safety of the next room with a blast of protective magic. Then again, he wanted nothing more than to keep Arthur’s hand placed at the dip between his shoulders, forcing him to bend down and hear what the two were saying. 

Despite the circumstances, the heat of Arthur’s palm grounded him. Merlin could not be blinded by his hate for Prisca. She was smart and would need careful watching. 

“Say,” Pricsa’s eyes fluttered to Merlin and back to Arthur. “A jaunty jig? Surely Merlin would not start dancing on my behalf.”

Arthur’s laughter was like music. It rose and crashed in beautifully smooth sticattoo beats. 

Which was stupid because the big oaf laughed just like everyone else. 

“A jaunty jig!” Arthur clapped Merlin’s back once again before the warmth left him for good. “You heard the lady, Merlin.”

“It sounded like you called him the Lady Merlin!”

Arthur doubled over laughing. He nearly knocked over his wine in doing so. His laugh crescendoed into the room and drowned out all the other unworthy noises. 

Prisca’s obnoxious laugh joined in. The malicious melody snuffed the will from the surrounding noblemen. Everyone who heard the laughter started to laugh themselves. 

Arthur peeked up from his helplessly bemused state and instantly rolled his eyes when he realized Merlin was not enjoying the merriment at his expense. The crinkles that outlined his eyes shone his amusement but the fists under the table and the tightness in his jaw made it clear he was unhappy that Merlin could be upset at such few words. 

Merlin knew what he wanted to do. He wanted to throw Arthur’s wine over Prisca’s head and blow her apart with a spell of fire. He wanted to grab Arthur by the arms and take him as far away as possible. He would jauntily jig all the way into the next kingdom if it meant keeping Arthur safe. 

Prisca’s threats made that impossible. 

Arthur’s frown made that impossible. 

Merlin’s heart made that impossible. It tugged at his chest and he somehow felt guilt over not allowing Arthur his momentary joy.

“Lady Merlin, at your service.” Merlin curtsied to Arthur with the edge of his jacket and forced himself to smile. 

Arthur's grin returned in full force. It lit up his face. It lit up the room. 

Merlin’s heart thumped. 

“Can you imagine?” Prisca’s laugh pierced the moment. 

Merlin felt the world return to itself and he spun to glare at her as openly as he publicly dared. 

“If Merlin were a lady of nobility?” Arthur asked around a snort as he lifted his wine to his lips. 

Prisca’s eyes roamed up and down Merlin’s body. She tilted her head as if considering and dropped her gaze to his crotch. She smirked at his squirm. “I bet he would have surprisingly large breasts.”

Arthur spat his wine out of his mouth and onto Merlin’s back. 

Merlin did not dare to turn around. 

Arthur’s laugh was broken and unsure. He hardly ever heard such talk in his life. Everyone was careful with what they said to a prince. Coming from a lady as well, it must have been a shock. 

“And the marriage proposals to match,” Merlin said to her in an attempt to save Arthur from further embarrassment. 

The stare between Merlin and Prisca was cold. Cold enough to send shivers straight down his spine. He supposed that could have been the wine soaking into his skin. 

“What do you think?” Prisca asked Arthur, ignoring Merlin once again. The harlot's body failed to fill out Gwen’s dress. It hung down and exposed her breasts as she leaned seductively towards Arthur. “You know him best. If Merlin were a lady, would he get your proposal?” 

Arthur coughed out the last of the wine in his throat and tore his gaze from her chest. There was a rosy color to his cheeks. His eyes flashed towards Merlin, quickly looking him up and down, before they widened and he looked towards the room's exit. 

Merlin wanted the ground to open so he could be sucked in. He knew what he should want. He should want Arthur to get on with the bullying and stop this torturous humiliation. He should want Arthur to know he was just as uncomfortable at this line of questioning as him and that he wanted it to end as quickly as possible. But that would not be the full truth. There was a part of him, a hellishly hot, twisted, cursed part of him, that looked for validation in that stare. That knew Arthur could not love him, for he was a man and of lower station at that, but wanted to know what if. What if Merlin were a lady of nobility? Would he be worthy of Arthur’s love then? Was it only the breasts? Merlin had spell books. He was learning about transforming appearances. It could be done. 

Merlin shook his own head to get himself out of the torturous questioning. 

Dresses were not for him. Despite what Arthur was no doubt remembering when he caught Merlin with one of Morgana’s.

Love spells were evil. 

Arthur shook his head with dignity. “Unfortunately, knowing Merlin as I do, she would be required to prove herself before I could place Camelot in her grasp. For fear of her dropping it.”

“Prove herself how?” Prisca smiled as she stared at Merlin. “A dance?”

Arthur nodded sagely. “Ballroom is one way to test the grace and-”

“Or a jig?” Prisca teased, gently interrupting. 

Arthur’s jaw dropped at his misstep in judging her seriousness and laughed shortly once again. “A jaunty one.”

“Well, m’lady,” Prisca turned to Merlin. “It seems the feat to win your prince’s heart is a simple one. Nothing for you to drop.”

“Except my dignity,” Merlin mumbled. 

Arthur’s hand was like fire as it fell against his hip in a slap. The contact was momentary but it clung to his skin as if it had burned. Merlin’s face was alight with the flame and his ears turned red with it. 

“Go on then,” Arthur said, raising his goblet in mock salute. 

“There’s no music,” Merlin hissed at him. 

“True love needs no music,” Prisca taunted. 

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Arthur agreed. 

They were both staring at him. 

Merlin momentarily wondered what would happen if he caused a storm to appear right over Prisca’s head and accused her of being a witch. The Witch Finder must have had an apprentice. Perhaps they could be invited to sniff her out and throw her to the dogs. No magic, no problem.

Merlin’s smile was forced. He took a step back and clutched his wrists behind his back until he could feel his cut palm peeling and the bruise aching against his bone. Prisca stared at him like a cat stared at the mouse in the corner of the food pantry. Waiting for the perfect moment to strike and devour him whole. Arthur stared at him with amusement and a raised brow. A challenge to make sure Merlin completed the task, to prove his loyalty yet again. A punishment for trying to shirk bath duties earlier, no doubt. 

One leg lifted, kicked out, and then the other. Merlin was a commoner. He knew a jig or two and he could perform with the best of them. Music or not, in front of the entirety of the castle, he would perform. Not because Prisca had manipulated him into it but because of the twinkle in Arthur’s eyes as he watched. Because Arthur asked him to. Because, in his fucked up what-if mind, he wanted to prove that true love needed no music. 

“Not very jaunty,” Arthur teased. 

“Smile, Merlin!” Prisca demanded. 

Merlin’s jaw was set tight but he forced himself to smile anyway. Arthur laughed. For a heartbreakingly long second that smile turned real. Merlin had a crowd forming and a few of the knights were clapping him along as he danced, kicked his legs, and circled in place. He even dared to bend his body back, traveling low and bouncing back up, clapping as he did. He got a few cheers and everyone joined in with whoops. Arthur was clapping with the rest of them, nodding his head and cheering along. 

Then Prisca got up. 

Merlin froze. 

Prisca lifted Gwen’s borrowed skirts and kicked up her legs as she had seen Merlin do, tossing them to the side and kicking out. She spun her body around and clapped her hands, egging the crowd on. She turned to Merlin and wiggled her brows. 

Merlin wanted nothing more than to kick his body up and shove her into one of the knights and have them run her through. Only he was in public. It was not safe. No one was safe with her around. 

Merlin lifted his hands and clapped as he joined her, spinning around her dancing form. Prisca drifted close but Merlin pulled back. They did not touch. They stared and dared to go lower as the clapping picked up pace and they danced through it all. The crowd seemed to fade away as Merlin glared. Maybe it would only take a simple trip for her to fall and break her leg. Infections could be deadly things. 

Merlin’s leg lifted towards her next step when Uther walked into the room. 

“What is going on here?” Uther demanded. 

People scurried. Everyone returned to their positions, all trying to look as innocent as possible. 

Merlin was left next to Prisca, his eyes on her and her eyes on him. It was as if she could read in him exactly what he planned to do. She smiled sweetly and broke eye contact to bow to the king. 

“Your Majesty,” she said at once. “Apologies. I was having a bit of fun with Prince Arthur’s manservant before the dinner.” 

Merlin glanced at Arthur to try once again to communicate to him that this was clearly all a lie and he needed to be paying attention _right now._

Arthur glared at him. 

Merlin felt panic. Did he know Prisca was evil? Had Merlin done magic without knowing? Did he see him try to trip her? Could he tell Merlin was lusting after him like a lost puppy eyeing some ham?

Arthur nodded meaningfully at Uther.

Merlin swallowed and spun towards the king, bowing his head. Right. Easy misstep. He was disrespecting Arthur’s father by not bowing to him immediately. 

Uther’s sigh was similar to the one he saved for Morgana. “Apologies accepted. Now, sit down, dear girl.”

Prisca shuffled quickly to her seat and gracefully took her place once again. 

“Apologies, father,” Arthur said, steaming mad. “My manservant is unwell and seems to have lost his voice.”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak but Arthur’s harsh shake of the head made him shut his mouth once again. He supposed he disrespected Arthur by not apologizing to Uther as Prisca had done. Another misstep. 

“Your boy is a buffoon,” Uther said harshly and sat down. 

“Agreed, father,” Arthur said, eyeing the wine stains on Merlin’s jacket. 

Merlin bit his cheek as the dinner commenced. 

Prisca leaned to Arthur as Merlin filled up their wine goblets once more. “You must let us know who won, my lord.”

Arthur cocked his head to the side. “Won?”

Prisca chuckled lightly. “Your hand!” She looked at Merlin and her soft smile hardened. “Which of us ladies has won your love after all?”

Arthur’s brows pinched. Caught between laughing and polite rejection. He was saved from answering when Uther leaned over to talk to him about the final preparations for the display the knights would perform at the end of the celebrations. 

At least Uther referred to Merlin as a boy. Arthur’s boy.

Merlin’s heart thumped again. 

~~➖०➖~~

Arthur sat at his desk, reading over some form of correspondence that Merlin would sneakily read later. He already yelled at Merlin for his lack of respect owed when a king walked into a room and made him practice kneeling, squatting, and bowing to make sure he had the proper leg muscles required for such a simple task. He was very confused when Merlin smiled while doing it. 

Merlin was confused as well. 

It was nearly time for Merlin to head back to Gaius. Merlin slowly put out the candles in the room and opened the windows to keep it cool. It was while he had his head out the window that Arthur suddenly spoke. 

“Prisca seems nice.”

Merlin's heart dropped. His teeth clenched. His stomach rolled. “Does she?”

If Arthur was about to tell him Prisca suddenly had his hand in marriage then Merlin was going to blow the entire citadel up in order to be rid of her. 

Arthur snorted briefly. “Speaks her mind.”

Merlin sighed. Arthur was still looking down at his writing, pretending he was entirely focused. Merlin’s skin tingled. 

“In a way,” Merlin said slowly. 

Arthur hummed. “Quite bold.”

Merlin shrugged and snuffed out a candle with his bare fingers. “If you say so.”

“Kind of like you,” Arthur mused. 

“I don’t know about that,” Merlin growled.

“I do,” Arthur said simply. “There is something between the two of you.”

Merlin’s entire body trembled. Every lie was important. It kept him and his loved ones and the entire kingdom safe. “What do you mean?” he asked lightly, forcing his carefree smile. 

“Come off it.” Arthur smirked. 

Merlin stared at his lips as they curled. The cockiness was stupidly befitting. 

“She’s a girl,” Arthur said slowly, thrusting his fingers out as if pointing Merlin towards the answer. “Better yet, she is a woman.”

“And I’m a man,” Merlin said, equally slow. Unfortunately still lost. 

“Exactly!” Arthur said abruptly and slumped in his chair, letters forgotten. 

“Glad to hear you finally admit it,” Merlin laughed. It hurt his aching stomach muscles. 

Arthur gave him the haughtiest and -regrettably- sexiest stare he was capable of giving. “You were in the woods for two nights.”

Merlin quickly spun his body towards the bed and pulled back the sheets. Longing made him shake as bad as the squats did. It was completely uncalled for. “And?”

“And?!” Arthur scoffed. “I and everyone else saw the way you were looking at each other. You were practically fucking in front of the court!”

Merlin’s hand slipped and he promptly lost his balance and fell. His head bounced against the side of the bed as his arse smacked into the stones below. “What?!”

Arthur laughed cheerfully at Merlin’s apparent confession. “I knew it! I must say, I am relieved. I’ve never seen you look twice at a girl. And she is a pretty one. If you ignore her taste in men and the… um…” He lifted his fingers above his head and wiggled them uselessly. “Horns.”

Merlin held his cheek in his hand and gaped over the edge of the bed from the floor. He did not know what to think. He wanted to vomit. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. Arthur could have no idea what his words were doing. 

“I’m not… no!” Merlin ended up shouting. It was hopelessly important that Arthur believed him. “I do not want her. If you want to talk about her taste in men, I’m sure she fancies you!”

Arthur smiled at him kindly and gave an exaggerated shrug. “Whatever you say, _Mer_ lin. But I can spy when someone is sick with love and you, my friend, are sick with it.”

Merlin did not know if he should laugh or sob. His heart pounded in his chest. He twisted against the side of the bed and stared blankly at the wall. 

Arthur grunted in victory. “It makes your accusation even more confusing. I’ve never heard you call someone a witch outright without any form of proof. Despite the weight of your words, all she did was care for you during our return journey. What was the reason for it?”

Merlin’s face crumpled. He clutched at the hair on his head painfully hard. He swallowed thickly. His voice cracked. “I was mistaken. The parchment burst into flames. I thought she was the one. I thought she- um. She was taking advantage of my station.”

It was all he could say. He could force no more words from his lips. 

Arthur hummed. “I trust your word. I do not take your accusations lightly. You have always been a great ally in the fight against magic. I have convinced my father to allow Morgana to keep an eye on her, but she has shown no sign of misdeed, magic, or threat to you or Camelot. Love can be quite powerful. So can heartbreak. If something happened between you two to cause you to turn on her with such vengeance, tell me.”

Merlin could not speak. 

“Whatever happened, it seems to have passed now. She has shown nothing but dedication to you. After all, love and fire have wills of their own. The flames you saw may have been a trick of the light or a leftover spark from your campsite. Perhaps it is time to make amends. Talk to her.”

Merlin could not move. 

“I have much to attend to with the celebration. We only have one day left to prepare. I will be busy with the knights. You will help Gwen attend to any of Lady Morgana and Prisca’s needs.”

Merlin jumped to his feet, pounding his knee into the frame of the bed as he stood. He hissed at his new bruise and snapped, “What?! But you need my help!”

Arthur looked ready to yell but stopped himself and smiled instead. “Nonsense. George can attend me for a few days. You will show Prisca around the festival and aid Gaius’ research into the horns atop her head. Consider it time off for your rescue attempt. Though a few days off gallivanting in the woods really should count.”

Merlin’s jaw hung. 

Arthur walked to him and put a hand atop each one of his shoulders and shook him. “If anyone needs help here Merlin, it’s you. I’ll give you a start.” He nodded to the leftovers from his dinner. “Bring her my honey cake. I don’t want it and girls love sweets.” He clapped his hands once and strode to his bed, diving under the covers. “Now, leave me to rest and get some yourself.” He chuckled to himself, muffled against the pillows. “While you can.”

Merlin’s throat was too dry to swallow. His shoulders felt like hot coal. The coal settled at the bottom of his stomach. The smoke made his voice scratchy. “Good night, Sire.”


	3. Chapter 3

Merlin chomped on the honey cake for breakfast while staring at Prisca. 

Prisca ate her porridge with a smile, staring right back. 

“How did you sleep last night?” Gaius asked Prisca, his nose in a book about the anatomy of stags. 

Prisca, as Merlin had been reminded multiple times now, was a _girl_ -despite the horns. Girls had every right to sleep in cots rather than the floor, even when that cot belonged to someone else. _Merlins_ had every right to sleep on a bedroll next to the snoring physician while glaring at the door to his very own room, waiting to catch a girl snooping or stealing. 

“Horribly,” Merlin answered for himself and ignored Gaius’ frustrated sigh. 

Prisca was positively pleased with that response as she gave a genuine smile. As genuine as she was capable. “Very well, thank you Gaius.” 

“And what will you be doing today?” Gaius asked Prisca directly. When Merlin opened his mouth to answer Gaius fully faced the girl and said pointedly, “Prisca?”

Prisca’s smile rose. “I’m to be given a tour of the grounds. Lady Morgana has promised a picnic in the woods to get us away from the stress that the preparations for a celebration can bring. I anticipate our ride will take the better part of the day but we will return for supper.”

“What fun,” Gaius said warmly. Another one falling into the trap of batting lashes and tilting smiles. “Merlin, after the prince-”

“Can’t,” Merlin cut him off sharply. “I’m not serving Arthur today.”

“You’re not?” Gaius was genuinely surprised. There was a lot of preparation to be done. 

“I’m going on a picnic,” Merlin grumbled. 

“What fun!” Prisca replied cheerfully. 

Normally, Gwen would ride next to Merlin. Morgana and the guest would ride in front. The guards would flank. 

Morgana dismissed the guards. She and Gwen took their horses forward, leaving Merlin and Prisca to ride steadily behind. The two girls kept sneaking glances back, whispering to one another and laughing. 

“You have to admit, it is funny,” Prisca said suddenly into the silence, watching leaves rustle in the treetops above. “Ironically, of course.”

“That you have to hide your horns or else someone will gut you with an arrow, mistaking you for their dinner?” Merlin longed for the knights to be out hunting. Any distance between himself and Arthur felt tangible. Arthur being the one to send him away made the ride to the stream feel like a banishment. 

Which was fine! Merlin did not need to be around Arthur all the time. If he was going to be ridiculously annoying about girls and rabbits then Merlin did not want to be around him anyway. Not at all. Nope. 

“No!” Prisca laughed joyfully. “That everyone believes you and I to be in love when the spell has failed.”

Merlin glared ahead. Morgana and Gwen were giggling again. Merlin tried to catch his horse’s eye. The stead was steady and trustworthy but if he decided to take off in the opposite direction, Merlin was not going to stop him. 

“Your plan has failed,” Merlin growled under his breath. “Why don’t you leave?”

“Adaptation is key,” Prisca replied easily. “I move to where my destiny takes me.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. Was she making fun of him? She knew he was Emrys, though never explained why that was important to her. Some wanted his power, some wanted to kill him, some wanted him to fulfill the prophecy. He could not decide what she wanted him to do. 

“What is your destiny?” Merlin asked her. 

“You would take my destiny upon your shoulders as well as your own?” She stopped her horse. Merlin stopped his horse beside her. “What a noble breed of man you are.”

“What are you planning?” Merlin leaned towards her. “Your spell did not work. I will give you nothing.” The words burned like acid on his tongue, “Arthur will not marry the likes of you. You have failed. Why are you still here?”

Prisca smiled at him softly and placed her hand on his shoulder. He ached to throw her off. Perhaps off her horse completely. 

“Our worst enemy,” she said, “-is doubt. The doubt in ourselves. The doubt others put on us. Those that doubt us.” She squeezed his shoulder. Their horses were not matched. Merlin’s was taller and he slipped in his saddle towards her. “You are swallowed up by an ocean of doubt, Emrys. You are a great being of power and you need to trust yourself. Why do you think I’m here?”

Merlin gripped her by the wrist so hard he was bound to leave a mark. The wind swirled angrily around them. It caught her red headwrap and flapped it away, revealing parts of her horns. It reminded Merlin of Nimeuh. His fingers tightened more. “Beltane.”

Prisca’s hand twisted into a claw. She grinned. “And?”

“To kill Uther.” 

It was the only thing that made sense. Many people would be swarming the citadel. Festivals were a perfect time for an attack. If done with any skill, someone could murder a royal and never be pinned for the act. Too many people with too many alibis and no way to track movements effectively. 

Prsica shook her head swiftly. “Swim higher, boy. Uther is not my mark.”

Instantly, Merlin’s heart swelled with panic. Arthur was always a target. “If you lay a finger on Arthur I-”

“You set your sights too narrow.” Prisca leaned in, her breath punching Merlin’s jaw. Her eyes sparkled like a wolf’s fangs bared in the moonlight. “Kings will always fall in the end. Movements are much harder won.”

What the hell was that supposed to mean? Prisca was evil. Her motivations were clearly not for the betterment of Camelot. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because-” Prisca smiled at him and put her hand over his, keeping his fingers locked down on her skin. “You are going to do great things.”

Merlin’s mouth hung open lamely. How was he meant to respond to that?! She seemed to harbor no plans of murder but he could not take comfort from that. He was missing something. Trying to spy a glimpse of a plan from afar through floating mirrors or eavesdropping around corners and behind curtains was no way to train for what to do when actually confronting someone with questions. He longed for the chance but, now that he was there, only felt confused. What did one ask to get the right answers? 

Arthur would know. He was going to gloat so much when Merlin asked him how to interrogate an enemy later on. Arthur’s stupid smug smile tugged his mouth up and dimpled his cheeks. Merlin could already see Arthur clapping his hand down on Merlin's neck and squeezing in jest, mocking him fondly for trying to be intimidating. Merlin would slap his gut and Arthur would laugh. Merlin already felt the smile tugging at his lips. 

“Love birds!” Morgana called them. 

Merlin flinched. 

Prisca whipped her head to Morgana with a gleeful grin. 

“You’ll have plenty of time to stare into each other’s eyes at the stream!” Morgana added. 

“We’re almost there,” Gwen laughed. 

Merlin felt ready to hurl. 

Prisca swept herself upright on her horse with all the grace of a lady. 

Merlin still had hold of her wrist and was offset in his saddle already. He swiftly slipped completely off. Prisca’s horse moved to the side and he smacked into the ground with a thud, just barely avoiding a hoof to the head. 

~~ම.ම~~

“You’ve hit your head twice in one week now,” Gwen mocked gently. “That must be a record for you.”

“May they honor me in the history books.”

The two of them sat against a big tree as Morgana and Prisca waded into the water, hiking up their skirts to avoid getting wet. 

Merlin had his head in his hands. He had reopened the cut on his palm and his head was throbbing but he had not yet cracked his skull open. 

Gwen was resting after setting up the picnic and starting a small fire. The smoke kept the bugs at bay. 

“You should probably see Gaius when we return,” Gwen said kindly. “I can look after these two tonight.”

“I will,” Merlin promised. He had every intention of going to Gaius. 

As per Arthur, he was meant to be helping solve the problem of removing Prisca’s horns. Gaius could not know he actually intended to find out what sort of creature Prisca was and how to best destroy her. Perhaps if he had hit his head harder -or claimed it- he would be put on bed rest and would have the chance to search alone for longer. 

Unless Prisca offered to stay by his side. 

Merlin glared at Morgana and Prisca laughing in the stream. They kicked up water and pointed at the creatures they found swimming inside. They talked about how to fish and what sort of weapons they enjoyed using. To Merlin it was so obvious. Prisca knew too much for a simple commoner farm girl. Could they not see she had bigger plans?

“I’m happy for you, Merlin,” Gwen said quickly, interrupting his thoughts. 

Merlin frowned at her. “Happy I hit my head?”

Gwen laughed and squeezed his arm. “No. You know what I’m talking about.” She nodded towards the stream where Prisca was adjusting the red headwrap. “It speaks true of your character that you overlook the scars inflicted upon her by another and see her for who she really is.”

Merlin was certain he was the only one that saw her for what she truly was. 

“Though it does help that her face is quite beautiful. And that she is older.” Gwen’s eyes rounded and she shifted against the bark. “Not to say you would not like her if her face were not so beautiful or if she were our age. I’m sure you would treat her the same as you would any other. I’m just trying to say that despite her antlers, you see her for her and she sees you for you and that is something special to hold onto.”

Merlin snorted. Prisca did see him for him. Merlin for Emrys. If only he could tell Gwen it was not a special trait. There were hoards of Druids who also saw him for who he was. Who he was meant to be. 

“You trust her?” Merlin asked Gwen. 

The smoke filled their corner of the forest. It rippled through the air with a heated fog. For a moment he could not see Gwen’s full face. 

Gwen nodded. “Yes, of course.”

“She has had dealings with magic and we don’t know where she came from.”

“Well,” Gwen shrugged. “You would not have brought her here without good reason. Fate has brought the two of you together.” Gwen smiled softly and looked at the two slowly wading out from the bend and towards the grass. “Morgana has grown quite fond of her as well. I’m glad. Morgana has been drifting. It’s nice to see my lady smile like this.”

Morgana had been drifting, hadn't she? Merlin was trying to help her how he could but it made their conversations difficult. They did not share the same bond as he did with Arthur and she was another above his station. Her word went a great deal farther than a commoner. If she chose to condemn Merlin in order to protect her own life, he would stand no chance. 

Merlin thought Gwen was good company for her, even if Gwen did not know about all that troubled Morgana. Gwen was supportive and kind and Merlin had leaned on that kindness many times in the past. Morgana and Gwen did share a special bond. If they were drifting apart, it meant Morgana was doing as badly as he feared. Perhaps he would need to speak with Arthur about it. Or perhaps he needed to speak to Morgana himself. 

Merlin watched Morgana throw her head back and laugh, an arm on Prisca’s shoulder. Prisca held her up as the laugh shook her body. The two smiled at each other and laughed once again. 

The kinship only spelled trouble. 

“Come eat!” Gwen called. “Merlin will pour you wine while I check your legs for leeches.”

Merlin got up to gather the wine and checked the brush for any berries. Perhaps if Gwen found a leech he could conjure a way to make it drain every drop of blood from Prisca’s body. Poisonous berries were a good backup plan.

Everyone finished eating and they were all enjoying one last drink together before heading back to the castle. The sun dipped below the tops of the trees and the golden hue that streamed through the leaves reminded Merlin of Arthur’s hair glistening in the wind. The crystal blue of the stream made him think of Arthur’s sparkling eyes. The wine made him long to be in Arthur’s rooms, serving him his supper. 

It was pathetic. 

“Ladies,” Prisca said with a chuckle and a lift of her goblet. “We are only free for one drink more so let us make it a good one.”

The girls lifted their goblets and once Prisca raised her brow at Merlin, he lifted his as well. 

“Since it is just us girls,” Prisca said around a smirk. “And we are so far from any prying ears and eyes, why don’t we share secrets?”

Merlin swallowed his wine around a cough. 

Morgana stopped drinking and a momentary glare crossed her features. 

Gwen laughed uncomfortably. 

“Come on,” Prisca laughed gleefully. She curled herself into the blanket like a fungal parasite rooting into the flora. “I’m not asking for your deepest and darkest. One secret to solidify the bonds we have created.”

Morgana placed her goblet down cooly and lifted her chin. “You said it is only us girls but Merlin is still here.”

Normally, Merlin might be offended by that. Instead he nodded Morgana along. She had a point.

“Did you hear Prince Arthur at the dinner last night?” Prisca laughed, looked at Merlin and laughed again, so loud it startled a nearby bird. The laugh of a crow. “Tell her, Merlin.” 

Morgana and Gwen looked at him expectantly. There was no way out of this one. He rolled his eyes. “Apparently I’m now considered a Lady of the Court.”

Morgana let a smile crack. 

Gwen still looked confused but chuckled with Prisca. 

“Gwen, why don’t you go first,” Prisca said. She ignored the look of horror on Gwen’s face and seemed to contemplate what to ask. “Do you or have you ever fancied one of the knights?”

Gwen’s mouth fell open. Her face colored. She curled her lips as if to reply but no sound came out. 

Prisca chirped and clapped her hands. “You have! Oh, of course you have. You see them every day in all state of manners and undress. It would be more concerning if you did not.”

Gwen shook her head and smiled shyly into her cup. “I suppose so.”

Merlin’s hands fisted into the grass at his side. Did she know about Lancelot as well? Or was she solely speaking of the prince?

“Morgana, you are next.” Prisca turned to her and eyed her up and down, tapping her mouth with her finger. 

Morgana’s happy smile receded completely. She bore the gaze with disinterest, clearly unimpressed with Prisca’s games. 

Perhaps she could start to see the true Prisca underneath. Perhaps Merlin could have an ally in all this after all. 

“You, my lady, are a lady,” Prisca said, completely unperturbed by Morgana’s indifference. “Yet you have the heart of a warrior. Do you ever think of a life outside the castle? What is your wildest dream?”

The grass ripped between Merlin’s fingers. 

Morgana’s closed smile was filled with ice. “I dream of nowhere but Camelot.”

Prisca knew of Morgana’s dreams? 

How was that possible?

Prisca bowed her head to Morgana briefly. “Of course, m’lady. I would expect no less.” She turned to Merlin and smiled wide. “Lady Merlin. What shall we ask you?”

Merlin tore the last of the grass from the ground and rubbed his palm into the dirt. His heart thudded loudly in his chest. “I’m an open book.”

Prisca winked at him and shook her head. 

“What about you?” Morgana asked, staring at Prisca over the lip of her cup. “Are you an open book?”

“Ah,” Prisca lifted her goblet into the air again. She cloaked her features in an apologetic frown. As humble as George explaining the different kinds of cutlery to an unwashed peasant. “To show you I am sorry for any ill will, I will share with you one of my deepest and darkest secrets.” She glanced at Merlin. 

Merlin’s heart jumped. There was no chance of doing magic this close to Gwen and Morgana. He leaned back, ready to throw some form of distraction together. 

Prisca sat upright and pulled the wrap from around her head, revealing her horns to the evening air. With practiced moves, she brushed her fingers through her golden hair until it lay flat around the protruding horns. “Though I was cursed with these antlers on my head, I know magic is the only way to rid myself of them. I believe there is a place for magic in this world if it is harnessed by the proper people. It should not be banned for all.”

Silence followed.

Merlin feared he had put a spell on them by accident it lasted so long. 

They were the words he had always yearned to say aloud. Desperately. To anyone that would hear him. Prisca said them. To the king’s ward. Boldly. Just like that. What could she possibly gain? Would she not be arrested on principle? She had already been accused of witchcraft. This had to be crossing a line.

Morgana broke the silence first. She seemed somewhere between a grin and a grimace as she clutched her goblet. “The words you speak are treason here.”

Merlin felt himself stuck somewhere between a grin and a grimace. Morgana believed in Prisca’s words, _his_ words, but Morgana had no choice. Just as Merlin had no choice. She would need to play her role. Prisca needed to be punished.

“Then it is a good thing I am surrounded by those I can trust,” Prisca said. She waited patiently as everyone swallowed her words down. 

Gwen looked to Morgana as Morgana stared at Prisca. Prisca stared at Merlin who glared right back. 

Smoke spiraled from the fire. Merlin willed it to wrap around Prisca’s neck. Prisca coughed as it entered her nose. Any second now, Morgana would request they return and have her arrested immediately. It would be over.

“Can I touch them?” Morgana suddenly asked, gesturing to the horns. 

Prisca nodded. “Yes, of course.”

Prisca leaned forward and Morgana carefully brought her hand down. Merlin wanted to yell at her to stop in case they were cursed and contagious but Morgana’s fingers were already following the swooping patterns down to her head where they seemed to disappear into her scalp. Morgana smiled. 

No. Why was she smiling? 

Prisca leaned to Gwen. “You can touch them too. They feel no different from bone.” 

Gwen lifted a shaky hand and looked to Morgana who nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Prisca said. “I can’t feel a thing.”

Gwen gently prodded her finger along the points and quickly removed herself. 

“Merlin?” Prisca asked and leaned towards him. 

Merlin leaned just as far back and shook his head. “No thanks.”

“Go on,” Prisca nudged and rammed her head forward as if intending to skewer him on her horns. 

“They really don’t feel strange,” Gwen said helpfully. 

Morgana watched Merlin carefully as he lifted a hand and grabbed onto the top rung. He hoped Prisca was lying and she could feel all of it because he squeezed as hard as he could. The bones were warm in his palm.

~~≽⋗V⋖⋞~~

There was no arrest.

Morgana stole Prisca away for supper in her rooms. She even sent Gwen off for a night of peace before the festivities began in the morning. Merlin wanted to know exactly what it was Morgana had planned. Morgana was smart and cunning. He could help her. If only she trusted him. 

If only he trusted her.

Gaius greeted Merlin gratefully when he returned. Gaius had a stack of chores for him to do including stuffing salves into bowls and potions into jars so they could be sold and bartered for. It was none of the research Merlin hoped they would be doing. 

Merlin sweat over the boiling stove as he created a cold combating potion for Gaius. Merlin had actually learned how to create all of the ones they were selling because he was a halfway decent apprentice, especially given how many duties he was given. He had become quite skilled at sprinkling a bit of magic into the herbs to boost their natural properties. Plants seemed to like his magic. What the king and the common folk did not know did not hurt them. 

“Gaius,” Merlin called behind his wall of steam. 

“Yes, my boy?” Gaius was stationed near the window as he labeled his goods. The window's small draft was the only source of any fresh air. 

The door was open so Merlin had to word himself carefully. He did not doubt Prisca’s ability to find out if he told anyone about her. She knew too much about so many already. He was not about to push his luck. Especially not in front of an open door. 

“I’ve been tasked to assist in helping with Prisca’s ailment.” It was the truth. Arthur had assigned that duty himself. 

“Oh good,” Gaius said gleefully. “That dear girl has been very understanding of our priorities during this time of year, but I’m sure she will be glad to know we will quickly make up for lost time with three pairs of eyes instead of only two.” 

The steam suffocated. Merlin could not breath. “Three?”

“Oh yes,” Gaius called. “The girl can read. Is that not good news?”

Merlin did not know how genuine Gaius felt and how much he was influenced by her false charm. Gaius gave nothing away, far too concentrated on his work writing out labels with careful script. Surely Gaius knew they would be required to look into magical spells. The girl claimed it was magic herself. There was no chance Gaius would be glad of her help given Camelot's law and he did not know Prisca knew of Merlin’s magic. The door was open. Merlin had to give his mentor credit where it was due. 

“Good news,” Merlin echoed back passively. 

Prisca’s help also meant Merlin could not research her demise and stop her plan. Everyone else said death to Uther, death to Arthur, or death to all. When the love spell was performed, Merlin guessed her plan aloud. She never actually confirmed. She said she wanted to help rule. But how would she do that without killing Uther or Arthur? If she wanted to mary Arthur, why not have him perform the love spell on the two of them? Her words were swirling in his head and none of it made any sense. 

Merlin watched his spatula churn into the bubbling liquid. He briefly paused and placed the wooden tool by the fire as he quietly shut the door and turned the lock. He quickly flicked his eyes at the spatula and willed it to keep stirring with magic as he dropped on the other side of the table from Gaius. With far more urgency and panic then he intended he asked, “Are potions weaker than spells?”

Gaius dropped the bottle he was attaching a label to and raised his eyebrows at Merlin. He quickly stood up and closed the window, filling the room with the heat of the fire. 

Merlin rubbed away the sweat dripping down his jaw. 

“Merlin,” Gaius chastised. “You must be careful when you speak of these things.” He checked the door and saw it was closed but still frowned. 

“Are they?” Merlin asked. He too looked at the door but more for fear that Prisca would return at any moment, creating any excuse to check up on him. 

Gaius eyed him warily but answered his question. “Potions hold power that everyone can use. Spells are pulled from the creator’s intention. There is a weight to words that herbs cannot match alone.”

Merlin rolled his lips and swept a shaky hand over his damp brow. “Is there a way to reveal a love spell without using magic? Is there a potion strong enough?”

Gaius stared at him solemnly for a moment more. His eyebrow raised dramatically. "My boy, are you quite alri-" Suddenly, he cracked a smile and shook his head. “If this is about the girl Prisca, I already know.”

It was as if a weight had been lifted off his chest and he could breathe for the first time in days. Merlin gasped in a hot breath and smiled from ear to ear. “You do?” 

Gaius nodded. “Sometimes, my boy, love can come of its own volition. You have been trained to look for magic and evil in all places. Sometimes, love is simply love.”

Merlin’s smile fell. It was just as he feared. No one blinked an eye. Merlin in love… with Prisca. Ironic. 

“Don’t worry,” Gaius said. “Your secret is safe with me.” He pat Merlin’s hand gently and squeezed his fingers before returning to his work on the parchment. “To answer your question, there are revealing spells and potions but I’m afraid love is a spell too strong to be broken by anything so simple. Revealing the truth is possible but that would be all it could do.”

Gaius complained of the heat a breath later and opened the window. 

Merlin stopped his spinning spatula and opened the door at his mentor's request. His body felt numb as he watched the wooden handle sink back into the bubbling liquid. It was starting to turn shades, from a bright yellow to a puce green. The sickness took hold and Merlin nearly lost his supper. 


	4. Chapter 4

Saying magic words aloud with so many witnesses winding through the castle corridors was unimaginably stupid -not that it stopped him before- but it was especially impossible in Prisca’s presence. She had some way of just knowing things. There was too much risk.

A potion could be more easily managed, hidden among the potions mixed for Gaius to sell. Merlin would need to do it in secret, away from Gaius’ prying gaze and demanding eyebrows. Then he could slip it into Prisca’s drink and force her to be her own undoing. Or his own drink. Maybe. The details could be worked out later. The start to a plan was better than no plan at all. 

If only he knew how to make such a potion. 

Merlin needed to escape the heat. He finished with Gaius and quickly walked into the castle to breathe the cool air of the night. The royal quarters quickly came into view. He intended to visit Morgana if she was still awake. He realized too late he had no sleeping draught in his hands to use as his excuse. Still, he needed to speak with her. Needed to know if she saw through Prisca’s act. If she would help him. 

Instead, he found himself in the corridor outside Arthur’s rooms. There was truly no reason for being there. Arthur banished him. Sent him away to spend time with a girl. He should be ecstatic for the chance to break from his duties. Should be. Saving the royal arse and cleaning his trousers hardly corresponded within a proper schedule. He had research to do, a potion to make, a monster to stop. Yet there he was, drinking in the sight of the wood, hoping for some kind of clarity to hit him. 

What hit him was the door. 

Merlin practically fell into Arthur’s rooms when George swiftly ducked out. 

“Merlin?!” Arthur exclaimed. He sat on the opposite side of the table, a cup of something in his hand. 

“That’s me,” Merlin replied intelligently. “Already dipping into the festival’s reserves I see?”

The room was dark and blue in the moonlight. George put all but one of the torches out. Arthur was enjoying the chill of the night as he sat in the shadows, refusing to set a fire despite the cold midnight would bring. He was completely undone, shirt shoved up to his elbows and body lazily slumped forward. His smile was soft with drink, a sloppy smirk tilting up the side of his face. Comfortable, relaxed, trusting. 

It was a rare sight. A state that could apparently be reached when the prince was left alone with George for the night. Perhaps it was because George actually did his job, leaving no room for Arthur to stress about the details of his day-to-day. Merlin was decidedly not jealous. Not. Jealous. George could afford to dedicate his life to polishing shoes and mending tunics all he wanted. He had that luxury. Merlin had the luxury of balancing his duties with _saving lives_. So what if Arthur’s brain melted like pudding after spending a night with George? Arthur got like that with him too! After all, his idiotic grin only widened as he called Merlin to walk in.

Merlin’s returning idiotic grin was just as sloppy.

The hedonistic brute did not deserve to be looked at twice. So, Merlin only looked once. One long and intense gaze that he could not force himself to break.

“Sit,” Arthur said, gesturing to the other side of the table. 

Merlin’s eyebrows rose and his heart thumped. Almost never was he asked to sit at this table. Not that it stopped him from taking a seat anyway but something about Arthur’s invitation made his stomach flip. He slowly lowered himself into the seat and watched in awe as Arthur poured him a cup of mead and slid it over the table. He gladly accepted it and took a careful sip, hoping the liquid would calm some of his nerves and cool his tongue. 

It was horrible. 

The mead was good and that was bad. The spell was twining around his heart and pulling too tight. It wanted this. Some sort of future that did not exist. Of late nights sharing a flagon as they sat at that very table and talked as equals as they waited for the sun to rise. His heart simultaneously ached and preened over unattainable possibilities. Even if Arthur felt the same, their worlds were too far apart. They were destined to work towards the same goal from afar. Briefly drifting together in momentary bouts of virtuous honesty before returning to their roles. 

“Why are you here?” Arthur asked over the lip of his cup. A cocky eyebrow flicked upwards. Teasing happily. “Surely Gaius has drink you could steal.”

“Potions, more like.” Merlin smiled so much it hurt his cheeks. “The workshop is filled wall to wall with all sorts. I’m sure I could steal something. Your toe bunions are looking worse than a toad’s backside.” 

“Hey,” Arthur pointed at him in warning, glaring playfully. “I don’t have toe bunions.”

“Sure you don’t, Sire,” Merlin murmured cheekily and laughed as he took another gulp. 

Arthur smiled. Genuine. Sure. Prideful. Full of teeth. 

It hurt. 

This was not one of those times for drifting together. This moment would be another lie to add to the never ending list. Stories he would never get to share fully. Even if one day, down a path where he could finally spill all his truths, details would be forgotten. Arthur would be made uncomfortable by the love spell. By Merlin’s corrupted thoughts. 

Merlin would probably never tell him this one. Knowing that, Merlin immediately felt guilt begin to rise. It was a feeling he was sorely comfortable with. He swallowed it down, accepted the queasiness like an old friend, sipped on his mead, and allowed himself another look. 

The blue hues of the moon complimented the amber highlights that danced off the torch. The silky shadows faded against Arthur’s jaw. Cheekbones glistened. Merlin wanted to trace his fingers over every bit. Draw the lines between shadow and light with touch. Feel the stubble beneath his jaw tickling his nose. 

Merlin promptly looked out at the rooms. Absolutely perfect, as per George. “I’ve simply come to save you.” 

“From a night of peace?”

“Close,” Merlin shrugged. “From George.”

Arthur groaned derisively. “Yes, please.”

Merlin snorted.

Arthur held out his hands. “I’m not sure how I’ll take three days of him. I may need you back sooner simply to keep myself sane.”

Merlin’s eyes involuntarily swelled. Arthur needed him but he did not _need_ him. He should have remained in the shop with Gaius and figured out how to break the spell. He should have gone to Morgana. He should have researched the revealing potion. It would have been smarter to stay away. 

Why could he not stay away?

Merlin blinked the pressure behind his lids harshly away and hoped the blanket of night could shroud the gleam in his eyes. “I will always come when you need me.”

Arthur smiled softly and looked down at his hands. Shying away from Merlin's honesty. 

Merlin took a gulp of mead. 

The moment passed.

“That would not be fair to your new friend,” Arthur said smugly. He held up his cup and tipped towards Merlin. “Tell me, how was your ladies’ picnic? Did you plait each others’ hair? Gossip about the folly of men? Find shiny things to -oh I don’t know what girls do with the shiny things they find. Make them into jewelry? Did you make yourself a pretty pair of earrings? With your ears you would need an entire quarry of stones.”

Then again, how could he not stay away? Was this really what he was missing? The arrogant prat? Moons and fire and skin and hair could glow but they could not blur a personality. 

“I’m not a lady.”

Arthur snorted loudly and shook his head. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, _Mer_ lin. I’m sure you’re a fine lady and any man would be lucky to have you.”

The pain jumped weirdly from his heart to his stomach to his throat in a breathless laugh. “You’ll look like a lady soon if you don't get your hair cut.”

Silence.

Then, Arthur’s laughter filled the room. Loud and loose and vibrant. 

Merlin was compelled to smile along with him, despite his better judgment.

“I heard you all touched her horns,” Arthur said. His eyes gleamed. He leaned over the table. His tendons bulged beneath his shirt. “How did they feel?”

There was no stopping this now. Arthur made up his mind about Merlin liking Prisca and there would be no stopping it until she was dead and gone. 

Perhaps there was a spell to turn her into a toe bunion and then he could use Gaius’ cream on her. She already looked worse than a toad’s backside. It would not be a stretch.

Merlin’s nose wrinkled. “Warm.”

“Interesting.” Arthur slumped back in his chair and stared at him for a long, tense moment. His lips rolled into his mouth and slowly popped back into a pout. 

Merlin wriggled in his chair and spun his cup in his hand. Proof of Arthur's interrogation skills, he felt obligated to ask, “What?”

“I know she intends to remove them, but perhaps you should think of their _other_ uses.” The look he gave Merlin was obscene. He licked his lips in a languidly lewd swipe. He flexed his strong hands against the table. His hips thrust just enough to make the chair creak. Restraint and desire directed exclusively at Merlin.

Merlin’s mouth went dry. His cock pulsed, elated at the way Arthur’s tooth caught along his bottom lip. “What?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and swayed side to side. “You know-” He exhaled sharply when Merlin clearly did not follow. “I’m sure they would be great to hold onto. Can you imagine her taking you in her mouth while you hold onto those things?” He mimed thrusting up while holding onto imaginary horns and shrugged his shoulders. “They’re warm you say?”

“What?!” Merlin actually yelled. Repulsed but unable to tell that to his cock. He crossed his legs and dropped his gaze to his lap. 

Arthur laughed openly at what he presumed was the blushing virgin and pushed him on. “Tell me you haven’t thought about that.” His tongue flashed out again. He bit his lip wantonly. “Or hanging on while you ride her from behind.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open and he squeaked so badly he was sure they could hear him in the hall. 

Arthur shook his head and rolled his eyes. “I’m only joking. Calm down. We never get to talk about this stuff!” He shrugged. “No harm meant. The knights have given you ample opportunity to speak about past conquests but you never share. I thought-” He had the audacity to look disappointed. “The way you look at her. If I did not know you better, I would say you wanted to kill her. But that’s not it, is it? You must _really_ want to fuck her.”

“I don’t want to do any of that with her!” Merlin suddenly exclaimed and stood up from his seat. His cup slammed against the table with his fist. His face fought to stay neutral but the blush was heating him all the way down his chest.

The room spun. Hot and clammy at the same time. The image of Arthur thrusting into the air and biting his lips was repeating in Merlin’s mind. Every time he said _fuck_ and every time Merlin felt himself sinking further into the floor. If only it would swallow him whole. 

This was wrong. This was not what he wanted. Wanting Arthur was _wrong._ It was. It was. It was. Wrong.

Arthur’s cocky smirk turned into a proud smile. “Good. Then love has found you after all.”

Merlin’s head cocked to the side. For one heart pounding moment he feared that he had said it aloud after all. That Arthur knew of his unwelcome feelings. That he seemed surprisingly alright with it. 

The spell ignited his chest with fresh desire.

“What?” Merlin whispered and crashed back into his seat. 

“Lust and love wear a similar mask.” Arthur nodded at him, as if letting him know he was on his side. “It appears you have found yourself love after all.”

Arthur swallowed another gulp of mead. 

Merlin watched the liquid bounce down his throat and disappear down his rippling chest. 

Arthur was simply trying to support a friend, treating him as an equal by sharing a drink. Letting his friend be happy. Cheering to his good fortune. 

Merlin’s jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. He needed to run. Get out as soon as possible. Lock himself in a tower and not come out until these thoughts stopped.

Arthur snorted. “It’s dangerous when you think too much.” 

There was a scratch and a creak and his toes pressed Merlin’s calf under the table. 

Merlin’s whined. His cock fully hard now. 

“What are you thinking about?” Arthur asked. 

“How much I love- hate you, Sire.” Merlin shook his head and opened his eyes. 

Arthur smiled down at him. “The feeling is mutual,” he replied happily and thrust his empty cup at Merlin. “Clear this up will you? We have a busy day tomorrow.”

Merlin slowly rose from the table, crossing his hands in front of his crotch. Perhaps this was a very long nightmare. The ache would go away as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Oh, and Merlin,” Arthur called. His eyes dropped to the cross of Merlin’s wrists. 

Merlin’s cock thumped. He looked at the ceiling and willed his body to listen to him. His face crumpled with embarrassment when he heard Arthur chuckle softly. 

Arthur sucked in a breath and said quite seriously, “Watch who she shares her opinions with. Not all people will be as understanding as Morgana.”

Merlin returned from Arthur’s quarters and took his place on his bedroll without visiting Morgana. Her rooms seemed too far and it was too late at night anyway. 

The floor was cold and for that he was grateful. 

It was not fair. 

Love on par with a coughing fit. Hate on par with a rough fuck.

Arthur truly did not know him at all.

Knowing it was a spell should have made it easier. This heartache and rejection were misplaced. These feelings were not his own. They were not. 

A few tears escaped as he stared at the dirt collecting in the corner by the stairs of his room. 

They were not.


	5. Chapter 5

There had been a dream after all. 

Fuck repressing magic in all forms. Love. Protection. Curses. Let it fly free. 

Merlin sat across the table from Arthur once again. Said what he longed to say. He did not want Prisca. She was a vile, evil thing that shamed the very space she walked. 

“I want you.”

In the dream, he lunged across the table and grabbed Arthur’s face in his hands. He crushed the prince’s mouth with his own. He felt stubble and shock under his mouth. And heat. Arthur was always filled with such heat. 

Dreams were meant to play out fantasies but this dream was true to reality. 

Arthur froze under his mouth and gently pulled his hands away. Merlin laid on the table, straining to look up at him. Arthur swallowed his shock and calmly said that Merlin had drunk too much and needed to go to bed. That he would forgive this act and that Merlin would need to take the next few days to focus himself because clearly he was out of sorts. 

The weight Merlin woke up with in his heart was too much. He looked up to make sure Gaius was sleeping and placed a hand on his chest. He willed the blanket of cold to seep from the floor and lay over the spell. Even with the pressure of his desire removed, the burden of pain was still there. 

Merlin’s stomach churned at the thought of touching Arthur like that. He wanted to shove the very notion away as something vile and disgusting, but his lips tingled with the memory of stubble scratching. His face heated at the thought of Arthur’s warm breath entering his mouth. Like the steam of boiling pigs blood. He wanted to vomit but his stomach growled. 

Merlin sobbed silently at the ceiling as he forced himself to go back to sleep. 

“Merlin?” Morgana was suddenly in front of his face. She looked concerned as her eyes explored his vacant gaze. 

Merlin had been staring into the crowds of people as Gaius spearheaded their cart during the festival. 

“Sorry?” Merlin shook his head and forced himself to focus. Morgana was there. This was his chance to warn her. “Morgana-”

Prisca appeared as quick and unwelcome as a hornet. She picked up Morgana’s arm and stared up at him blankly. 

Gwen had her own cart to manage, full of her sewing creations.

No other servant was in sight. 

Gaius haggled with a farmer for some sheep skin. 

No one could distract Prisca for Merlin.

“Is everything alright?” Prisca asked him with the kindest of head tilts. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.

“Fine,” Merlin growled. 

“Are you sure?” Morgana asked, still staring at him as if he were about to faint at any moment. “Perhaps you need one of these salves for yourself.”

“I think he needs something stronger than a salve,” Prisca added. 

Yes. A potion. To remove a spell.

Morgana chuckled. “There’s plenty of strong drink to go around.”

“Merlin-” Gaius called. 

“Gaius!” Merlin called back too loudly, relief making his entire body jump. He was not in the mood for mind games this day. 

“My boy-” Gaius beckoned him close. “Go back and bring another crate of the ache poultice. While there, start another batch. Once it’s boiling, leave it to- Mer- to cool! We can return to it this evening after the first part of the tournament!” 

Merlin was already running towards the castle halfway through Gaius’ request. Once inside the shop he stirred together the ingredients for the poultice and sloshed them into the pot, quickly alighting the fire with magic. He ran to his room and dove for the floorboards to find his book. He sighed in relief when it was still there. This was his only chance. Prisca was walking the carts with Morgana and Gaius was too busy to catch him and ask him to explain. 

Jackalopes had the bodies of rabbits with antlers atop their head. That was the closest the book had to offer to whatever Prisca might be. It said nothing about creatures with horns and a human body. Jackalopes could be subdued with whiskey and could only be killed when the sun and the moon were equals. The solstice was months away.

The book had the same notes on love spells that Merlin had already read through a hundred times but none of them matched his love spell. The Great Dragon’s words about true love's kiss was scribbled in the corner of one of the pages. But Merlin had no true love to kiss. His love spell was crafted by Prisca and she alone could break it.

This time, Merlin took special care to read the handful of truth spells and revealing potions. There was only one recipe for a potion and he committed it to memory. It did not seem too difficult. There was only one missing ingredient he needed. 

A Seer’s tears. 

~~q.q~~

The knights of Camelot had a friendly tournament to celebrate Beltane. Attendance was required. Merlin stood next to Gaius to help any knights who may require assistance. 

The first two nights of the tourney were a melee. Night one, on foot in groups. The second on horseback as individuals. The third night would be hand to hand combat with the intention of immobilizing the opponent without inflicting lasting damage. All fights were until yield or the time allotted by the hourglass ran out, but men of honor were stubbornly competitive and prone to stupid and unnecessary injuries.

Sir Leon led his half of Camelot’s men onto the field and yelled with the crowd. Arthur came quickly after, leading his half, and the crowd erupted again. 

For a solitary moment Merlin cheered along and let himself be happy for it. He had a plan. It was no doubt a dangerous plan that could go very _very_ wrong and he had no clue how he would truly execute it, but he had a plan. 

There was also Arthur, in his armour, smiling and waving at his people. He was always insufferably happy when participating in a melee with his own men. He loved showing off their skill. 

The two groups charged at one another and swords clashed. Each side of the arena cheered loudly even though it was too close to call who was winning. Silver gleamed as metal clanged. Time ticked by quickly until all the sand in the hourglass fell. Neither side had yielded. 

Uther stood and counted the men still standing. By his tally, Arthur had won by two men. 

Everyone cheered as they were bid to drink and be merry and feast on that day’s portion, knowing they had more fortune to look forward to in the future. The best of the celebration’s rations were saved for the final day. 

Uther was first to leave the arena, followed by Morgana and Prisca who left arm in arm again. 

Prisca found Merlin in the crowd, looked at Arthur, and smiled back at Merlin. 

Merlin’s heart thumped viciously but he smiled. He had a plan. 

~~⋏o⋏~~

Merlin went straight to Arthur’s chambers. He shooed George away as quickly as he could. 

“But his Highness asked _me_ -” George whined as Merlin pushed him out the door. 

“Yes, yes, yes,” Merlin nodded enthusiastically. “Go and grab his drink and I’ll take care of his armour.”

“But-”

“Go!” Merlin huffed as George finally took the hint and shuffled down to the serving quarters. 

“Did I just see you boss around _my_ manservant?” Arthur’s voice filled the room with light. His glee was so potent he could not even pretend to be annoyed with Merlin. 

Merlin smiled at him and all the air left his lungs. 

Arthur was gleaming. Everything about him, right down to his wide and open smile. 

Merlin shook his head and pulled Arthur into the room. He could not care that he felt ready to faint and fall at Arthur’s feet. He could not care that he wanted to bask in the glow that shone off this man. He could not care that this feeling was better than any mead and that it wiped away all memory of his dream. He could not care. He had a plan. 

“I am his boss as I am your manservant,” Merlin laughed and undid the buckles on Arthur’s sword belt. 

“Oh, that’s right,” Arthur said dramatically. “Who approved that again? It was not me.”

Merlin shook his head and continued to undress him, allowing himself the sinful strokes over Arthur’s sticky back once more. His stomach rumbled. “That was an amazing show today, Arthur. Truly very impressive.” 

Arthur shrugged out of his armour. “Would you know? It doesn’t take much to impress you, Merlin.”

“You impress me,” Merlin said before he could stop himself. He froze as he lifted Arthur’s chainmail. Arthur seemed to freeze as well. They were so close. Eyes wide and locked. Merlin bit back the scream he wanted to let loose. “So what does that say about you?”

Arthur looked stuck between shock and insult. Merlin pulled the chainmail over his head to save him a response. 

Merlin piled the armour together just as a knock came at the door. Merlin opened it to find George with a jug in his arms. “Good!” Merlin stole the jug and dropped the armour into George’s hands. “Thanks, George!” He shoved the door shut just as George tried to speak. “Bye, George!”

Arthur chuckled from his spot at the head of the table, a cup waiting in front of him. “Are you my reward then?”

Merlin felt the tips of his ears turn red. He shook away the feeling and smiled a little extra wide, knowing it probably looked as painful as it felt. “Is that so bad?”

Arthur looked at him and at his empty cup. “So far I haven’t seen the benefit. George would have that full by now.”

Merlin rolled his eyes but filled the cup up nonetheless. 

The next part of Merlin’s plan was supposed to come easier than this. For some reason, a guilt started to gnaw at his insides and he found the wording difficult and awkward. 

“Arthur-” Merlin started, still unsure of how he wanted to finish that sentence. 

“Yes?” Arthur asked. 

“Have you ever…” Merlin swallowed around the sudden dryness in his mouth. “This is going to sound like a strange question.”

“Spit it out.”

“Have you ever made Morgana cry?”

Arthur stared at Merlin with his head cocked and his mouth slightly open. It was terribly adorable. “Have I ever- Have you? Did you make Morgana cry?”

“No!” Merlin quickly held up his hands and almost splashed the wine jug everywhere. “Not recently at least. Gwen said she’s been upset lately. But I never see her. Cry that is.”

Arthur snorted and returned to sipping his cup. “She is a heartless harpy incapable of showing any emotion.” He paused, as if running through Merlin's words again. 

Merlin frowned. That was the answer he expected. “I’ve never seen you cry. Does that make you a heartless harpy?”

“Did you make Prisca cry?” Arthur sighed aloud and rolled his eyes. “Merlin, how are you utterly hopeless at everything?”

“I didn’t and I’m not!” 

Arthur silently stared at him for a long moment before pursing his lips and nodding as if decreeing something himself. He stood from his chair and moved to his desk where he flourished some parchment and a quill at Merlin. “Sit down and write her an apology.” 

Merlin stared at the seat for longer than he needed to. No excuse was forthcoming. He had no lie prepared. He could not tell Arthur the truth. He supposed he could run and shove George back at him. But just being in the same room as Arthur made the weight on his chest so much lighter. It was much easier to give in. 

Merlin sat at the desk. Arthur shoved the chair forward, as if Merlin weighed nothing, until his stomach was pressed sharply into the edge. Arthur picked up the quill and put it in Merlin’s fingers. For a moment their skin touched and Merlin felt as if he were on fire. He looked at where Arthur’s fingers had lingered and wondered how it was possible that Arthur did not feel it too. 

Why he sought Arthur for advice on how to make Morgana cry was muddled at best. The spell drew him to Arthur at every moment. He wanted and needed to see him. To look at him in all his glory after a victory on the battlefield. To feel him close even if he was never truly his. 

It was foolish. 

There was every reason to stay away from Arthur and as close to Prisca as possible. If he stayed near Prisca he could stop her from doing something evil. Going to Arthur was selfish and senseless and probably exactly why Prisca allowed the spell to continue as it had rather than how she intended. 

Heat swarmed Merlin as Arthur leaned on either side of him, closing him into his chair. “Write exactly what I say and nothing more.”

“Fixing your mistakes and making it better, like usual?” Merlin looked up at him with a sloppy smile. His jaw was right there, close enough to bite.

Arthur glared down at him and slapped him upside the head. “Focus. We’re fixing your mistake here _Mer_ lin.”

~~⌒^⌒~~

_Prisca,_

_For the mistake I have made I am dearly sorry. The fault was mine and only mine. I never wished to insult you or cause you harm in any way. I rue the day I made you frown. Your beauty is radiant when you smile. I want nothing but to cause you to smile. Always._

_Humbly yours,_

_Merlin_

Merlin stared at the letter while walking back to Gaius’ chambers. 

While Arthur breathed the words down Merlin’s neck, Merlin allowed himself to believe they were Arthur’s. That Arthur was apologizing for something. Anything. Something as simple as yelling at Merlin for dropping armour. Or as big as forgetting to thank him for saving his life again. Merlin decided he would keep the parchment under his bedroll. He would rip away the names and keep the important words. This token would be his memory and his lie to get him through this. 

Merlin placed the apology under his bedroll and quickly spun as Gaius walked through the door. “Where’s Prisca?”

Gaius smiled at him and shook his head at his jumpiness. “We thought she was with you.”

“We?”

“Lady Morgana asked me the same question not too long ago.” Gaius looked up with a single eyebrow raised. “Should we be worried?”

Merlin shook his head and forced a smile. “No. I’m sure she’ll turn up at the feast.”

“Yes,” Gaius nodded and pointed to the hoard of empty bottles behind Merlin. “Before we leave, let’s finish up that poultice, shall we?”

The dining hall was packed with people and decoration. There were flowers everywhere, the arches were all lined with greenery, and the Pendragon crest flew from every available surface. 

Merlin strutted to the top of the hall where Arthur sat, a wide grin on his face and flowers dangling over his chair. Merlin had the insane urge to pluck a flower and give it to Arthur as a joke. As a joke. 

George stood perfectly straight behind Arthur. Merlin aligned himself next to him. 

“George,” Merlin greeted. 

George nodded at him. “Where is she?”

Merlin’s brow crunched. He saw Morgana in her chair and the other lords and ladies were mingling but all seemed in attendance. “Who?”

George gave the loudest, most pitiful frustrated sigh. “You will notice that Prince Arthur has arrived on time and prepared to partake in tonight's festivities, for once. Where is your charge?”

Merlin’s mouth hung open for a moment. “Oh! Prisca!”

George looked at him, completely horrified. “You forgot her name as well?”

Forget her name? Never. 

Merlin was about to come up with a very creative but no doubt flawless lie when Prisca flooded into the room. “She’s right there.”

Prisca had a large grin plastered onto her false face and was practically running to Merlin. Before she had cleared half the room she was yelling, “Merlin!” She held an arm in the air and waved around a piece of parchment. “I love it!”

The apology note. The note that had been hiding under Merlin’s bedroll. Along with the ingredients he needed for the truth potion. 

Prisca’s smile widened. She rushed towards him, brandished the note like a poison dipped arrow, and sang for all the room to hear. “I forgive you!” She slammed against Merlin’s body and sent him toppling into the stone wall behind. 

Thorns from roses thrust into his back. Pollen fell like rain into his hair. 

Prisca grabbed his face in her hands and crushed her lips against his.

Merlin grabbed her arms and tried to thrust her off but she shoved him brutally into the wall. 

Every part of it felt wrong. His heart belonged to another. This was a vile, disgusting act. His skin crawled. Scrapes drew blood. Magic ached to shove her neck first into the ceiling. 

Someone in the room hollered. Another person whistled. George muttered an almost swear word.

Prisca pulled herself back but kept herself close, laying her chest flat against his. She smirked as she held up the note to make sure he could see it. “Truly sincere, Emrys. Whatever mistake you falsified, know you are forgiven for it.”

Merlin was pinned. If he had less control her skin would be melting off her face with the intensity of his sneer. He hoped it was burning her from the inside out. 

Prisca turned towards the table and gracefully took her seat without so much as a scream.

Arthur grinned at Merlin and gestured to the note Prisca clutched. He winked. 

It hurt. 

Merlin tried to smile back but he was unconvincing. He wanted to wash his mouth out in swamp water. That would leave a better taste than this. 

The dinner commenced. Merlin was numb to any talk. He simply attended Prisca as well as George attended Arthur. When the final course was served and the music grew, Merlin tried to request a meeting with Morgana. He needed her. He was nearing Morgana’s seat when he was brought back by Arthur’s voice. 

“Prisca, where is Gwen? Have you seen her?”

“She was finishing up the maypole but I haven’t seen her in a few hours.”

Merlin's stomach churned. He ran.


	6. Chapter 6

Harsh orange light pounded through the windows and threw menacing shadows over the scene. Merlin found Gwen in her home, collapsed on the floor. Cold stew and a plate of berries on her table. Unresponsive. 

Gaius counted the beats of her heart and the breaths in her lungs as she lay on his cot. She was alive but unconscious. No amount of smelling salts revived her. 

Morgana sat at her side, holding her hand. Silent sobs wracked her body as Prisca dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. 

Merlin was consumed by such violent and hot anger that his body trembled. Prisca did this. He knew it. He would tear the answers from her piece by piece. She threatened his loved ones. His family. She knew Gwen was his friend and she did this. He would _murder_ her. 

Arthur stood next to Gaius and stared at Gwen’s unmoving form. Heartbreak was clear across his face. Glossy tears caught at the corners of his eyes, though he tried to remain impassive. 

For the life of him, Merlin yearned to grab Arthur’s hand and steal him from this place. To tear that look off his face and wear it himself. To force Prisca to the armory and throw her to Arthur’s mercy. Anything to make Arthur feel better.

“Do what you can,” Arthur asked of Gaius. 

Gaius agreed. 

Arthur met Merlin’s gaze for a long moment. There was so much Merlin wanted to say. He wanted to take away that pain. He would do it. At any cost. Arthur may never love him but Arthur did love Gwen. Merlin would save Gwen for him. It was for the best. It was. 

“I’ll stay and help,” Merlin answered the unspoken question. 

Arthur nodded silently and walked out of the room.

“My lady, you need sleep.” Gaius put a hand on Morgana’s shoulder. “We will watch her and let you know the very moment she wakes up.”

Morgana looked up at Gaius and shook her head. “I will be unable to sleep until I know she is well.”

Gaius nodded solemnly and leaned in to whisper. “Shall I get you a sleeping draught for the night?” 

Morgana glanced at Prisca who looked down at her with wide eyes. 

Prisca nodded ever so slightly. 

Morgana nodded fully at Gaius. 

Merlin’s vision went red. 

Gaius knocked his shoulder to stop him from glaring and gave the sleeping draught to him. He instructed him to walk Morgana to her rooms. 

Their footsteps echoed in the empty castle halls. Everyone was by the bonfire outside, drinking and eating and dancing. 

Tears stopped falling from Morgana’s face. Merlin hated the disappointment he felt because of it. How could he possibly ask her for tears under these circumstances?

“Prisca is a wonderful person,” Morgana said suddenly. 

Merlin remained silent. Was she sincere or trying to gauge his reaction? Did she not know this was Prisca’s doing?

“I am grateful to you for bringing her here.” Morgana tried to smile at him. 

Merlin tried to smile back. People could be listening. “That was more Arthur than me, m’lady.”

“Arthur,” Morgana echoed back and shook her head. “To you both then.” Her smile turned genuine. “I have found a great friend in Prisca.”

Merlin’s step faltered. The absolute rage that engulfed him exploded in one thunderous heartbeat. The world spun. The castle walls faded. The world finally swallowed him whole. 

Morgana paused when she realized he was not following. Sadness and a new wave of concern was all he could see. 

Merlin was too late. There was no ally to be made. His chest hurt. 

Morgana sucked in a breath and continued with all the strength she possessed. “She has helped me in ways I did not expect. Not behind the walls of this castle.” The words were bitter as she stared at the stones surrounding her. Hallways as grimey as the bars in the dungeons. Her voice shook in the only sliver of fear she would allow to slip through her hardened demeanor. “She has told me truths that no other has dared.”

Merlin knew he looked as afraid as he sounded. “What truths have she dared share?”

All at once Merlin could see his death. Prisca knew more than Morgana’s deepest darkest secret. Would Morgana keep his magic to herself? Why would Prisca tell her? Did Prisca tell her about the love spell? Would Merlin be banished for the indecent love of a crowned prince? Would she tell Arthur? All roads led to a noose or pyre. 

The fact that Morgana looked around them to make sure they were alone gave Merlin some hope. She grabbed Merlin’s hands and squeezed as hard as she could, cutting the sleeping draught into his palm so tight he feared it would break. 

“My dreams,” she whispered. “I no longer fear them.”

Merlin swallowed thickly. “You don’t?”

Morgana shook her head and a smile cracked the tear stains raining down her cheeks. A relieved smile. Happy.

Relief did not come for him as it did for her. Guilt pained his chest and tensed his shoulders.

Morgana knew she had magic. Prisca told her. Prisca did what Merlin never had the gall to do. Yet again, she stole the words from his mouth. Stole his friends. 

“The future can be crafted into greatness,” Morgana said, still smiling. 

Merlin squeezed her hands. The bottle creaked between his fingers. His teeth scraped together as he peeled back his lips into a forced smile. It would look horrifying but he had a reason to hide behind. Gwen lying on her deathbed hardly called for glee. 

“What else did Prisca tell you?” The desperation surged out of him, beyond his control. Morgana may not be his ally in this fight but Prisca talked to her. She would know something about her. About what she was. How she could be stopped. How she could _die._

Morgana chuckled once and dropped Merlin’s hands. She continued to walk to her rooms without looking at him. 

Merlin followed. 

“That she likes you,” Morgana teased. “If that’s what you’re wondering.”

Madness made every muscle in Merlin’s body flex. He wanted to punch a hole in the stone. If it broke his hand in the process it would be worth it. He had to be going crazy. “No, I-”

Morgana spun as they reached her door. “Tell Gaius thank you.” She stole the sleeping draught and drank it in one gulp. “I need the rest tonight. Please watch over Gwen.” 

Merlin peevishly grabbed the empty vile and nodded once sharply. “I will.”

“Good night, Merlin.”

Merlin nearly let her turn in for the night but stopped her just as the door was about to close. His voice cracked. “I’m glad you have found some peace.”

Morgana smiled. “Me too.”

Merlin returned to Gaius’ chambers at a furious pace. When he stormed in, only Gaius was in the room. “Where’s Prisca?”

Gaius shook his head. “I sent her to the well for some water.” His eyes pinched. “Gwen is in a state I have never seen before. There are no physical signs of trauma. No injuries internal or external.”

“It’s magic,” Merlin said more than asked. 

Gaius nodded. “Undoubtedly. Without food or drink she will only last a few days.”

Merlin spun out of the room. Gaius called after him but Merlin kept going. He ran down the path to the well. The night was cold and the moon was bright. He could see wisps of his own breath slapping the air. He felt numb to it all. 

Prisca held a bucket and walked gracefully up the path. When she saw Merlin she smiled coyly. 

Merlin flicked out his hand. Gold sparked in front of his eyes. Prisca flew into the side of the closest building, her back slamming against the stone wall. The water sloshed on the ground. 

Merlin charged.

Prisca strained to push away from the wall. 

Merlin snatched her red band away and seized hold of her horns. He yanked her head to the side and pinned her. Her throat was small. His hand nearly engulfed all of her. 

“What did you do,” Merlin growled. 

Prisca’s heart beat fast. She sucked in a breath that pushed against his palm. “That was a stupid use of magic, Emrys.”

Merlin’s fingers tightened against her vocal chords. He pulled sharply at her horns. The warmth of their unnatural heat bled into him. “What did you do to Gwen? I won’t ask you again.”

Prisca panted but she still smiled. “I thought you would be more grateful. Arthur’s love will be no more.”

Merlin’s fingers sunk into her flesh. 

Prisca gasped. She swallowed for breath. She gagged. Her eyes bulged. 

Merlin released her neck. 

Prisca coughed at the unnatural angle he held her horns and choked on a lungful of air.

Merlin clutched the bone tighter. 

“Your love must truly be great.” Pitiful sounds clogged her throat as if she swallowed the thorns thrust into Merlin's back. They punctured her airway and streamed blood into her lungs. “Unselfish. What a burden it must be upon your shoulders.”

Hot breath clouded the air in front of Merlin. Like a dragon’s breath before the burst of fire. He could snap her neck now and damn the consequences. Burn her body with a snap of his fingers. He could do it. He would, if it were not for Gwen. 

The voice that came out of him was low and dangerous and unlike anything he had ever heard himself sound before. Cold, detached, sadistic, and promising. “You will tell me how to fix her.”

“Better than that.” She still struggled for breath. “I will bring her back myself.”

Merlin’s jaw trembled. 

Life was not a game. Yet there were pieces in motion on a board he could not even see. No one ever let him see. 

“Bring her back from where?” He refused to beg. 

“The other side of the gate.” She spat upon the ground. Her round eyes glared up at him from behind a veil of straggly yellow hair. They were black in the moonlight. “It closes at sunset on the last day of Beltane.”

“What gate?!” Merlin shouted. 

“You know nothing you stupid young boy.” She tried to rip her horn from Merlin’s grip but he held fast. Her red band slapped her cheek. She growled. “How could it possibly be that _you_ are Emrys.”

He violently shook her head by the horn. “What gate?”

She hissed and rolled her eyes. “I will save your friend, my dear. But it will come at a price.”

Merlin looked to the streets around them. They were still alone. Another spell would cost him nothing. He tossed her horn from his hand but made sure his magic was at the ready. “What price?”

“Your love’s love will return if you take me hunting, my love.” She licked her teeth and bit her lip seductively. Her smile widened. 

Merlin’s mouth hung open. Dumbfounded. “Hunting? You want to go hunting?”

Prisca nodded agreeably. “We’ll need arrows and bows. Just the two of us I think. A lovers getaway. Do you think Gaius would grant us that? To get away from all of the hardships? Beltane is meant to be a happy day after all.”

“You did all of this to go hunting?!” Merlin knew he was yelling but he could not stop himself. He threw up his hands and his magic vibrated all through his body. “Why?! You didn’t need to do this!”

“I did!” Prisca yelled back happily. She grabbed her head in her hands and fixed the red band back into place. “Everything is not as black and white as you think. You need to look at the bigger picture, Emrys. Things serve more than one purpose.”

Merlin’s fingers formed claws. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

Prisca reached down into the folds in her dress and held up a tinged bit of tan cloth. “Here.” She thrust it at him. “As a sign of good faith. To show you I will hold up my end of the bargain. The tears of a Seer. For your spell.”

Merlin stared at the cloth in her hands. The cloth she dabbed Morgana’s face with. He fixed his stare to her black eyes. 

Prisca smiled kindly and gestured for him to take it. “Seers reveal the future. They are capable of revealing more. You should use this wisely.”

Merlin continued to stare.

“No tricks.” She pushed the cloth at him and physically tucked it into his belt. “You saw me use it on her.”

“You-” Merlin swallowed another gulp of air. “You did this to get Morgana’s tears?”

“Merlin,” Prisca sighed. “There are more sides to a coin than two.” She strutted away from his gaping self and pointed to the bucket. “Fill that up, will you? Gaius is expecting it.”

~~>৯◽৯<~~

Gaius forced some water into Gwen by dribbling it over her lips before recommending sleep for everyone else. 

Prisca offered Merlin’s bed to Gaius and left to find herself another bedroll. 

Merlin wordlessly took Gwen’s hand in his. She looked peaceful. Asleep. 

“Gaius,” Merlin whispered hoarsely. 

Gaius put a hand over his and squeezed. 

Merlin looked at him with every bit of desperation he felt. “Prisca-” 

Gaius squeezed again. Kind, fatherly eyes pinched in concern as he patiently waited for Merlin to talk. 

“Prisca has seen this before,” Merlin said. He could no longer look at Gaius. He stared at Gwen instead. Where her hand lay limp in his. 

Gaius pulled his hand away sharply. “She has?”

“It is magic.”

Gaius gasped and stomped to the door to make sure it was locked. He quickly leaned into Merlin’s space and warned, “You did not tell her about yourself, did you Merlin? Love can make us blind but please tell me you were not so stupid as to-”

“No,” Merlin hissed out the lie. He forced himself to look at Gaius, to make him believe it. “She knows nothing.”

Gaius stared at him a moment more before nodding his head quickly. “Good. She has seen magic before. I suppose this makes sense.”

Merlin nodded along. Was lying truly this easy for him now? To Gaius? 

“She has a way to fix it,” Merlin said. “But we must go into the woods.”

“For what?”

“I do not know,” Merlin admitted. 

“Merlin,” Gaius dropped his voice more. “You cannot do magic with this girl. She holds no allegiance to you. What if she accuses you in front of the court?”

“I can just as easily accuse her. Again,” Merlin muttered blankly to himself. “I have to. Gaius, I have to. It’s Gwen.”

The old man closed his eyes. “I know she is your friend, Merlin. But her life is not worth yours. You mean so much to me. I could not stand to lose you.”

Merlin forced his tears to stay behind his eyes. His brow pinched. “It’s for Arthur. If she dies-”

“He will live on.” Gaius put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder and pulled him close. “We lose people and we live on.”

Merlin shook his head against Gaius’ shoulder and let a few tears escape. “We have a way to save her. I can’t let that pass me by. I have to try.”

Gaius pulled him tightly into a hug. 

Gwen’s limp hand fell back to the bed. 

“I know,” Gaius whispered. The hug went on for a few moments more before he stepped back and shook Merlin’s shoulder. “Be careful, Merlin.”

Merlin nodded silently. He wiped the tears from his face.

“I have a friend in town. She knows a thing or two about our remedies. I will have her sell our wares until Gwen’s return to health. You can go to the woods tomorrow.” 

Merlin wanted to take comfort knowing that their hard work in creating the remedies would pay off. That Gaius would profit from it and they would have enough to make ends meet. 

Prisca’s return made it hard to focus on the positives. She set up her bedroll on the other side of Gwen’s cot. 

Merlin could not sleep. All ingredients to his reveal spell were tucked down near his feet. He stared at Prisca from his spot opposite Gwen’s cot as she stared at him. She smiled.


	7. Chapter 7

Day two of the celebration started with children running around the maypole. Merlin watched them all sprint, laughing and smiling, as they held the ribbons Gwen had so carefully braided together. 

The armory was locked. Because of the tournament, Uther used Cold Iron locks to keep it shut. An added layer of protection from any magical interference. 

Well, it worked. Merlin’s magic fizzled and died without cutting through. 

Another simple spell could get Merlin in. But his version of a simple spell was blowing a hole in the side of the building. There were people around every corner and it was far too dangerous. He was lucky no one saw him attack Prisca last night. Even he was incapable of covering up an explosion in broad daylight. Probably. He was good at improvising. _I saw Prisca’s horns glow and then the armory exploded!_ Would that work? Best not to tempt fate. 

The key to the armory was on Arthur at all times. Merlin would need to steal and return it before the equestrian melee that night. 

Court still met, despite the celebrations. It was a good time to barter with the lords that traveled from their homes all across the land. Arthur would go back to his rooms when it was over. Undoubtedly, he was in no mood for celebration. 

Merlin leaned against the cool stones in the corridor, closed his eyes, and breathed deep. 

“Why are you here?” George suddenly asked. 

Merlin’s eyes flung open and he gaped. “Um-”

George looked up at him crossly. Waiting for his answer. 

“I need to talk to Arthur,” Merlin said quickly. 

George’s mouth fell open, scandalized. “ _Prince_ Arthur will see you if he wishes. I shall inquire and you will await an invitation.” 

Merlin tried very hard not to smirk. “It’s urgent. He asked me to bring him news. I have news.”

“If you have news, I can deliver it.” George stepped in front of him, as if his small body would be a good enough wall to block Merlin -the most powerful sorcerer- from his route. 

“It’s…delicate.” Merlin pinched his brow down. He was not about to explain himself to George, was he?

“I will gladly handle it with the utmost discretion and respect the secrets if the total family deserve.” George stepped again as Merlin stepped once more. 

Merlin sucked in a breath to tell George exactly where he could shove the stick that was already up his arse but the doors to the court opened. 

Merlin went right. 

George went right. 

Merlin went left. 

George went left. 

Merlin faked right.

George went left. 

Merlin sighed and fully pushed George out of the way with both hands. He stormed down the hall and ran full force into Arthur. 

“ _Mer_ lin!” Arthur yelped as Merlin's arms went completely around him. 

In the bustle of the bodies surrounding them, Merlin let slip a small smile. Arthur’s body was hard and strong. He barely moved from Merlin’s pathetic attempt. Probably because of the fat. Maybe that's why Arthur was always warm. The fat. 

Even a momentary touch was enough to have Merlin's heart pounding. Heat crashed over him completely and this time it was easy to ignore the guilt that came with it. After all, it could be written off as embarrassment. They did not hug. Even if Merlin had wanted to before the spell. Aha! He wanted to before the spell! It was not weird then! Not at all! Except Arthur was not hugging back, so maybe a touch weird.

“Ignore him, my lords and ladies of the court,” George announced for them. “He is a halfwit who will be rightfully disposed!”

The members of the court did look properly scandalized but moved about their business nonetheless. 

“Get off me!” Arthur scoffed and shoved at Merlin’s clinging hands.

“Get off him!” George demanded and pulled at Merlin’s middle. 

Merlin quickly slipped the keys off Arthur’s belt and clutched them in his palm. He sucked in a breath of Arthur’s air and stepped back, hands behind his back. He bowed and used the move to tuck the keys into the back of his pants. 

“Sorry,” Merlin lied. 

“I tried to stop this cretin,” George said quickly. His voice tense and high. Like a baby bird scared to jump from its nest. 

Arthur held up his hands. The twitch of his eye said he had a headache coming on. 

Merlin wished he could swipe his fingers over his temples and lay a cool rag on his neck. 

“Go away, George,” Arthur said. 

“But-” George squeaked. 

“Now!” Arthur snapped. 

George looked appalled. 

Merlin waved him away with wiggling fingers. 

George slumped off towards Arthur’s rooms and only gave three wary backward glances. 

Merlin let a small smile crawl up his face. “Poor George.”

“Poor me,” Arthur groaned. He swept his own fingers over his temple and gestured for Merlin to speak. 

“I think I have a way of saving Gwen,” Merlin admitted. 

He had not meant to admit that. 

Magic was something to be kept secret. As it had always been. Merlin was not meant to tell Arthur unless he had to. If Merlin could solve it on his own, he would. That was the pattern. It kept himself and Arthur safe. The less Arthur knew, the less pressure on Arthur to choose between his father and another path. A path of magic. 

The burden of magic and the power of its secret was Merlin’s alone to bear. He loved Arthur too much to share it with him. 

But Arthur loved Gwen. 

The love spell was pulling the words from his mouth before he could stop himself. He could feel it twining around his heart and crawling up his throat. “I can’t say more than that. I need to travel into the woods for a bit. When I return, she will wake.”

Hope made Arthur’s face lift. 

It made Merlin’s chest hurt. 

“I’ll come with you,” Arthur said resolutely. 

“No!” Merlin shouted. He looked around and lowered his voice. “You have to stay. You have to fight in the tournament.” 

“This is Gwen,” Arthur said as if that explained everything.

It did.

It hurt. 

“I know," Merlin said. "And I will do everything I can. Gaius is looking after her.” He clutched at Arthur’s bicep and squeezed as hard as he could. He hated that even now he could notice how absurdly firm it was. “I will save her for you.”

Arthur frowned at the ground. The bags under his eyes were large. His shoulders slumped down. His neck could barely hold up his own head. Everything about him was heavy. “I want to help.”

“I know,” Merlin whispered. His hand trailed up Arthur’s shoulder and gripped the back of his neck. He squeezed and left his hand there, thumb rubbing the throbbing muscles at the base of his scalp. “I know.” 

For a few heartbreakingly long seconds they stood that way. Merlin allowed himself to be close. Arthur’s heartbeat brushed against his wrist and the wisps of Arthur's hair tickled his fingers. The thumps of Arthur's heart punched him black and blue. The wisps sliced him open. Every breath stole the air form his lungs. Yet, somehow, the pain was bearable. It was tangible. Real. Something he could feel in his gut. He melded into it as if it were a true embrace. He hummed at the touch. Proof. 

Someone rounded the corner. 

Merlin pulled his hand back sharply. 

Arthur nodded. 

“Keep me updated,” Arthur said. 

Merlin quickly stepped away. 

“And Merlin?” Arthur called. “Thank you.”

Merlin’s hand tingled the entire way to the armory. 

The chilled iron of the keys ruined that warmth. 

~~ˇ♡.♡ˇ~~

Stealing two bows and enough arrows was surprisingly easy. No one paid him any attention as he entered the armoury or as he left. Even with an armful of weapons. Good job Camelot. He stowed them near the stables and returned to Gaius’ chambers. 

Gwen was still asleep. 

“Where’s Prisca?” Merlin asked. “Things are ready.”

“Morgana borrowed her,” Gaius said. “Must you bring that girl with you?”

Merlin frowned and nodded.

The royal family was walking amongst the commoners. Uther led the way with Arthur in tow. It was one of the rare times the king walked on foot amongst the people. It never lasted long and he was surrounded by armed knights but it was a show of good faith all the same. 

Arthur smiled but his eyes were vacant.

Morgana was arm in arm with Prisca, walking behind the rest of them. They were speaking in hushed tones and paid little mind to the people selling their wares this day. Merlin was plagued to know what lies Prisca filled Morgana’s head with, but he had more important things to handle first. 

“Prisca,” Merlin called sharply. 

Prisca looked at him and smiled. She had a scarf tightly wrapped around her neck to hide the imprints Merlin's fingers must have left around her throat. 

“We have to go,” Merlin said. 

Morgana looked concerned at Prisca’s parting words but let her leave the hold they shared. 

“Poor girl wanted to come,” Prisca said in way of greeting as she slapped Merlin’s shoulder. “Perhaps I should let her.”

Merlin’s teeth crushed together. “Two bows, two horses. We have to go.”

“Yes, yes.”

“Prisca!” A man’s voice, unfamiliar to Merlin, called out from the crowd. “Prisca!” He sounded ruthlessly angry. “Prisca!” 

Prisca’s face fell. Her eyes widened as she scanned the crowd and gasped. She looked genuinely scared for the first time since Merlin had the misfortune of meeting her.

Merlin smirked, despite their public surroundings. 

Prisca spun towards the man running at them. He was dressed in fine clothing and even had a cape flowing over his shoulders. It was a dark blue with silver and white feathered lining. Around his neck gleamed a silver crest that reflected the image of a deer. He was weathered and wrinkled. Gray and white hair was tied close to his skull and he had a trimmed beard to match. It made his face look all the more red and furious. 

“Father,” Prisca whispered to herself. 

“Father?” Merlin asked gleefully. 

“Lord Harold!” Uther greeted warmly. “It has been a long time!” 

Lord Harold stopped charging towards his daughter and spun to face Uther. The rage did not fall from his face. “What is the meaning of this?”

Uther smoothly dropped his smile and regarded Harold from under his nose. “I beg your pardon?”

“My daughter!” Harold screamed. He ignored the king and gripped Prisca by the arm and roughly dragged her in front of Uther. 

Prisca screamed and kicked. 

Merlin could not hold back a small laugh. 

“You have stolen her from me!” Harold continued to yell. “Do you have any idea what you have done?! Our lands may be from afar but my king will send his best soldiers here to ruin you!”

“Stand down!” Arthur yelled and blocked Uther, a hand on the sword at his side. “You are mistaken.”

“Your daughter has been our honoured guest,” Uther said smoothly, his eyes darting around the crowd that formed. “She has been treated as though she had noble blood, though none of us knew she did.”

“She has been your prisoner!” Harold continued to bellow into the crowd. “She would never enter Camelot’s lands willingly!” Harold pulled sharply on Prisca’s arm until she buckled under his weight. He ripped the red band from atop her head and revealed her horns to the masses. “A creature such as herself would never be allowed here!” He gripped one of her horns and lifted her up, showing her off to the onlookers. “She is no guest!”

Prisca hissed in pain. Her neck strained against the unnatural angle. The terror did not leave her eyes. 

“We know of her…” Uther threw up a hand and gestured at the struggling girl. “Unfortunate circumstances.” He nodded at Harold with all the grace of a king and said, “If you wish to take her back, you have every right to do so. There is nothing preventing her from taking her leave with you.”

Glee bubbled from somewhere deep inside Merlin. This was good. Prisca would be taken away. Forever. To a far away land. Perfect! 

“Morgana-” Prisca yelped as Harold pulled her against his chest. 

“Your Majesty-” Morgana cried, sprinting to the king. 

Uther thrust a hand at her. “I will not hear it, Morgana. This man is her father. He has the right over her. She will return with him. All will be well.”

“All will not be well until honor is restored!” Harold cried. “You have offended my people!”

“And how would you have us return this honor?” Arthur asked of him, hand still on the hilt of his sword. “My father speaks the truth. Your daughter has been our guest. You have dishonored us with your false accusations.”

“A test of strength,” Morgana said suddenly. 

All eyes turned to her. 

Morgana looked to Uther and said simply, “Have him enter the tournament. A bit of friendly competition to mend a wound. The stakes are time or yield. No deaths this day.” She turned to Harold and raised a brow. “I assume you know how to ride a horse, good sir?” 

Hard sniffed and flexed his fingers on Prisca’s horns. “I have a reliable hunting mare with me.” His arm enclosed Prisca’s chest and he squeezed her ruthlessly. “Every year I hunt and every year I catch my prize. She is a quick and steady steed.”

“Then you will, without a doubt, be a good addition to our mele,” Morgana said. 

The crowd of commoners cheered for their lady.

Uther pursed his lips and nodded at his people. “Very well,” he said. “Lord Harold, to make amends for this misunderstanding, please enter our tournament. Honor shall be the prize.”

Harold glared at everyone surrounding him but found he had no ally in this crowd. 

Except Merlin, but Merlin could hardly cheer him on with everyone around. Perhaps he could pull him aside later and congratulate him with another honey cake stolen from Arthur's plate. Men liked sweets just as much as women. Hell, Merlin would even offer to bathe and brush this hunting mare for him. Anything to get Lord Harold riding as fast and far away as possible. Would he perhaps like it if Merlin hog-tied Prisca and draped her over the horses rump? Maybe that could be another surprise! 

Harold nodded gravely. “I accept.” He quickly ducked his head in modest respect and yanked Prisca by the horns and dragged her through the crowd. She struggled to stay on her feet and whined the entire time.

“Don’t worry, Merlin,” Morgana whispered to him urgently before returning to the procession. “I’ll find a way to keep her here.”

Merlin practically skipped to Gaius’ chambers. He tucked himself back in his room, closed his door, jumped for joy, and whooped into the air. 

Finally, there was a way out of this. It would all be over soon. One more day and Prisca would be gone from his life forever! 

When he stepped out of his room, he saw Gwen still laying there. Asleep. Gaius’ nose deep in a book next to her. 

All the joy flooded away instantly. 


	8. Chapter 8

Sneaking into Arthur’s room was hardly sneaking. The guards knew him, finally -it did take all them a year before they stopped arresting him (Arthur probably put them up to it)-, and he could waltz right in. He decided the best place for the key was on the ground near the dresser. George might be blamed for the keys having been misplaced but George would get over it. A day in the stocks would do him some good. 

What Merlin did not expect was Arthur’s sudden return. Merlin anticipated the royal walk along the commoners to continue but Lord Harold's sudden appearance had been enough to have it cancelled apparently. 

Arthur stormed into his rooms just as Merlin was about to leave. 

Merlin stowed himself behind the privacy screen and pushed his body as far into the corner as he possibly could. 

Arthur was soon followed by George who waited with his hands behind him. A perfect, motionless servant as Arthur stomped around the table. 

“You can go,” Arthur said shortly. 

“But, Sire, I’m to dress you for the tournament-” George squealed. 

“Leave me-” Arthur snapped, took a breath and started again. “Leave me for an hour. Make sure the knights know of our final entry.”

George nodded sharply and exited the room.

Merlin held his breath as Arthur walked past. For one horrific moment he thought Arthur was going to go behind the screen to swap his statey clothes for his training gear. Merlin prepped for a very convincing removal of an imaginary spider web. 

Arthur walked past. 

Merlin heard the jangle of keys and Arthur’s curse. 

Arthur walked back into his line of sight. He paced from one end of the room to another. His face scrunched up and red. There were tears crawling into the corners of his eyes. He looked at the ceiling and fought them back down with a huff. 

Merlin’s own tears surfaced. If he could take them all, he would. 

There was a knock at the door. 

Merlin held his breath again. 

“Not now,” Arthur called. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head. 

The door opened. 

“Morgana,” Arthur hissed and waved out, prepared to tell her to leave again. 

“Prisca can’t go back with him, Arthur,” Morgana said sharply. The door clicked and the lock slid into place. 

Arthur opened his palms. “The tournament is a show of good faith. Pointless in her fate. She will return with her father.”

“She can’t,” Morgana cried passionately. 

“I know you made a new friend and with Gwen…” Arthur did not finish that sentence. He leaned on a chair and dipped his head. 

“It is not for the sake of another girl to braid my hair, Arthur,” Morgana hissed furiously. “Prisca’s father is an evil man.”

Arthur lifted his head at that. “Explain.”

Morgana appeared in Merlin's view. Through the crack in the screen he could see her flowing green dress swimming as she flew to the window and peered out. “He abused her. He sold her to the woman who cursed her. If you send her back, he will kill her.”

Merlin’s lips rolled. 

Based on the physical forcefulness of Harold with Prisca he supposed he could see how Morgana would be led to believe abuse. But the man did assume his daughter had been kidnapped. Surely it was an explosion of emotions. Even so, Prisca was a manipulating monster who abused everyone she spoke to. A bit of abuse was befitting in turn. 

The sick feeling in Merlin’s stomach grew. 

Prisca deserved to die. If it was by the hand of her own father then what did it matter? Or if by the supposed witch who cursed her? Was there even a curse? Was that the reason he could not find her likeness in his magical book? How many truths were lies? 

Arthur stared at Morgana’s back and spun towards the fireplace. He ran his finger over his lips. “Do you have proof?”

“She told me herself!” Morgana flung towards him, stopping herself by placing her hands on the back of the main chair. 

“That’s not good enough, Morgana,” Arthur snapped back. “He is allowed to do what he wishes with his daughter. He did no magic himself. We have no proof he will kill her. Even if he did, do you truly think my father will care for the life of one girl if it means going to war with another kingdom?”

Another good point Arthur made. As arrogant and rude as his princely ways were, he did have a respectable amount of experience dealing with the politics between kingdoms. Even if Merlin had the chance to kill Prisca himself, would it not risk the kingdom if he did so now that she had a noble father to avenge her? The best option was to do what Arthur said and let Harold take Prisca back. No matter what awaited her in her own kingdom. She deserved it. She did. She had to. 

Morgana shook her head furiously. “If not for her, then do it for me. For Merlin.”

Merlin straightened at the call of his name.

A smile flickered over Athur’s face. 

For a moment, it was enough to have Merlin feel like he was flying. 

“A springtime love affair will not be enough to sway my father’s interests,” Arthur said.

Morgana chuckled. “The first girl Merlin has shown an interest in and you think it’s simply a springtime love affair?”

Gods. Merlin should have just killed Prisca while he had the chance. He was forever going to be known as a deer fucker. There was only so much embarrassment he could take.

“Love her as he may, it could only ever be for a short while. Her time with us was always going to be brief.” Arthur spoke softly and shrugged his shoulders. “I gave Merlin what I could.”

Arthur’s decidedly annoying, caring tone made Merlin’s heart melt. A heat simmered up his spine and flushed his face. The urge to hug those unnecessarily broad shoulders left Merlin hugging himself. The next time he was forced to rub Arthur’s aching shoulders after training he was going to press so hard it would leave bruises. And not from his mouth! Not from licking up that spine or sucking on his collarbone or kissing the preposterous ridges of his shoulder blades. Nope. He would pinch him. Like a good, platonic manservant should. 

“He would go with her,” Morgana said slowly, carefully. She raised a delicate brow as she gauged Arthur’s reaction. “If she were to go with her father, Merlin would follow.”

“You think a lord would let his daughter marry the likes of Merlin?” Arthur snorted. 

Merlin wanted to be offended but that snort made his stomach flutter. 

“I think,” Morgana said, “Merlin is daft enough to chase after his heart. That boy feels everything. He would do anything for the one he loves.”

Morgana did not know how right she had it. 

Merlin sucked in a silent breath and pushed the back of his head against the corner of his hideaway. The stones ground loudly behind his ears. 

It would all be over soon. Merlin would only follow Harold to ensure he would be stealing Prisca away forever. He would see exactly what kind of abuse he would put her through and ensure a fair ending. For both of them if need be. He would wipe them from the map. Damage done, Camelot and Arthur would be safe. Everyone would be safe. That was his purpose. His destiny. It came with hard choices. Choices he needed to get better at making. He was not besotted with the beast. He could make the decision to send her off. To relinquish her suffering onto another. He was not responsible for her wellbeing. She deserved punishment. She deserved it. She did. 

“Do you really want to be left with George?” Morgana added when Arthur did not answer.

Merlin opened his eyes and squinted past the privacy screen.

Arthur’s entire body shook with derision. “Perish the thought. But none of this will change my father’s mind. He knows Lord Harold. He is an ally. Bounty hunter of magical creatures. They have an understanding. I cannot intervene.” 

Bounty hunter of magical creatures? Merlin swallowed thickly. If Prisca told her father what Merlin was, he was as good as dead. Perhaps he did not have a choice in their fate after all. Merlin could not wipe the earth clean of all haters of magic but he had a duty to protect his kin from bounty hunters when he could. 

When did this become his only choice? Kill or let live? Diplomacy seemed an unattainable dream for those that ruled from the shadows. Who was he to rule on more than the intelligence of bath water? Who was he to decree the lives of strangers? Where did Merlin end and Emrys begin? When had they switched places? 

“An understanding?” Morgana scoffed. “What kind of understanding is made with a bounty hunter willing to sell his daughter to magic?” She narrowed her gaze and raised her chin. “Uther won’t tell you what deal they have made.”

Arthur’s jaw twitched in a way that showed he was truly annoyed at her reveal. “A king is allowed his treaties, Morgana. We are not always privy to what keeps us safe from magic users.”

That hurt in a different way. A solid reminder to the spell that no matter how much it persisted with Merlin's fantasy, it would never come to fruition. One day perhaps. Years and years down the line they could talk about magic. By that point Arthur would be wed. A proper king with court advisors and treaties of his own. Merlin would be another voice in the crowd. One that floated just out of reach. Watching and yearning from afar like a desperate unseasoned knight hellbent on impressing his comrades while tripping over his very own sword. 

If the spell persisted that long, Merlin would likely find a way to resurrect Prisca and demand a cure. He assumed her head would be stuffed and mounted on his wall.

Morgana’s jaw clenched. Her entire body instantly tensed, as taught as the string on a bow. Her words flew through the air with violent precision. A promise. “I will find a way to keep her here. In spite of any devil’s treaty Uther may have with that demon.”

“And hide her how?” Arthur gestured wildly with his fingers at his temple. “She’s a bit easy to spot.”

Merlin thrust a hand over his mouth to stop a chuckle from escaping.

Morgana shook her head solemnly. “That girl will die if we let her leave. We might already lose-” Her voice caught. A tear fell. She caught it with her finger and shook herself back to rights. “Not good enough. You speak to Uther. I will work on Lord Harold. I’m sure we can come to a different understanding.”

“How do you anticipate doing that?” An exasperated Arthur walked closer to her with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Morgana smirked at him. “You will win the tourney. Uther will be in high spirits. You can speak with him then. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Arthur shook his head at her. “You cannot start a war, Morgana.”

“A neckline is hardly an assault worth war,” Morgana said simply. She lifted her head and drifted back toward the door, as if she made her point. She paused with her hand raised to lift the lock. Her fingers slid together as the silence grew. Her words were quiet, distant. “It has been a long time since I’ve worn the red dress.”

“Red dress?” Arthur echoed dumbly.

“You remember it?” Morgana spun back to him slowly and tactfully brushed her hair back over her shoulder. Her fingers danced over her collarbone and slipped to the hem on her dress. “I think the last time I wore it was your birthday.”

Arthur’s face started to heat red itself. His eyes flickered to the smooth stroke of her sculpted nails pinching velvet between her fingers. “Birthday?”

“You like that dress, don’t you?” Morgana tilted her head and exposed her elegant neck. 

“It’s a dress, Morgana,” Arthur huffed. His lips blew out air but he said nothing else. 

Morgana smiled and blinked at the ground. “You can like it, you know.” She looked up from under her lashes. “It’s alright with me if you do.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped slightly and he blinked rapidly. 

Merlin’s jaw dropped completely and he squinted. What the hell was happening?!

“Now,” Morgana said sharply, lifting her head and once again sounding like her normal self. “I need to reschedule the archery display. Apparently Gerant has misplaced his lucky bow.” 

Merlin’s open jaw clacked shut. 

Morgana flicked a hand, “Do whatever it is you do before winning a tournament. I know you men have your rituals.” She winked and gracefully fled the room. 

Arthur stared at the door until the sound of wood clinked back into place. He hastily walked over to it and slid the latch firmly into the lock.

“What the hell was that?” Arthur muttered to himself. 

Merlin enthusiastically nodded along silently. Morgana was _flirting_. He had seen her work her womanly ways with plenty of nobles before. She used that eye flutter to command the masses to bend to her will at nearly every feast in attendance. It was deliberate and very effective. Talking about dipping necklines and slipping her hands over her chest? Just the day before she said it was preposterous to think of herself with Arthur! Now she was throwing herself at him? Making him blush?! Insanity! The rolling of Merlin’s gut was complete confusion and concern for Morgana's wellbeing and any potential love spell cast upon her by Prisca. Nothing to do with jealousy at all. Not at all. 

Arthur paced another round around the table and then slumped into his chair. He held his head in his hands and brushed his hair back. He tossed his head and slouched down. He snorted. “Rituals,” he muttered. 

Merlin sighed silently. Fuming. He had nowhere to go for the better part of an hour and then he was expected at the tourney with Gaius. What a waste of time to do nothing. Then he would steal Prisca away and find a way to save Gwen with their hunt. Whatever that entailed. And then Prisca would leave with her father and… well. He supposed he would follow and figure it out from there. Wherever that was. No one actually said where they were from, yet. Just a far away land. 

Arthur sighed again. His hand fell from the table to his thigh with a slap that drew Merlin’s gaze. Slowly, Arthur’s hand trailed up his leg. 

Merlin watched the path his fingers took as they bounced along the folds in his clothes and swallowed. Heat rolled into a boil and sweat prickled at his forehead. 

Arthur’s fingers curled around his inner thigh and squeezed his cock through the fabric of his trousers. 

Merlin’s cock twitched. 

Arthur leaned back and swiftly tugged his trousers to his knees with his thumbs, freeing himself to the sweet spring air. 

Merlin licked his lips and pressed against the stone wall. The grit that sprayed into his eyes was not enough to make him close them. His mouth felt as dry as dirt, hanging agape, tasting gravel on his tongue. 

Arthur’s erection was just forming. A hand slowly gripped his shaft, gently pulling. His cock was thick and sturdy, just like the rest of him. It slipped between his fingers easily as it glistened. It darkened in color and hardened fully. 

Merlin ground his forehead down but still could not close his eyes. He wanted to but couldn’t. He wanted to. He did want to. He did. 

This was wrong. This was very, very wrong. But there was no chance of escaping. He could not walk out now and let Arthur know he heard the entire conversation with Morgana and saw Arthur touching himself. Probably touching himself to the thought of Morgana in that red dress. It would be far worse than the stocks for him. Hardly a way to save Gwen. 

Arthur moaned. 

Merlin’s knees buckled. The noise punched straight through his chest and into his center. His cock throbbed. He gasped. 

The nausea returned. This was his friend. If Arthur knew the way his sounds made Merlin quiver he would be disgusted. He would call Merlin all sorts of names. Horny whorrish perverted slag desperately lapping up any depraved dribble he could suck from fantasies driven by stolen glances while peeping at his master in inappropriate states of undress. Powerless to his own wicked and disgraceful attraction to someone who he could never be with. A masochist willing to beg on his knees for the slightest trickle of attention. 

Merlin bit his lip. 

Arthur’s chair creaked. He pushed up his hips and stepped out of his trousers, quickly peeling off his tunic. Soon he was entirely naked. Pink patches blushed across every inch of golden skin. Everything about him gleamed. Sweat dripped down his chest. Sunlight poured over every inch of him. Every inch. 

There was no womanly curve to focus on. Arthur was all man. All virile muscles. Unfortunately perfect. 

It made Merlin’s head spin. Guilt and lust swirled in his stomach and pooled hot under his hips. 

Arthur was his prince. There was no hunger for him before this cursed spell. Magic forced him to feel this longing. Lit the fire of the flames licking him from the inside. The urge to rut into the air, the sweat that dripped down his thighs, the strain in his neck from pressing his cheek against the wall. All his magic.

Merlin forced his eyes closed and put a hand on his chest and willed the cold to dampen the love spell's effects. A breeze fluttered from within. Desire flickered but it was still pulsing. He pushed harder. 

Arthur groaned. 

The breeze vanished. 

Merlin trembled. He looked out from beneath hooded eyes. 

Arthur took himself in hand again. His fingers danced off the head of his cock and gently fell down to his balls. His cock throbbed into the air. His other hand gripped his thigh, his fingers pushing hard into the muscles. 

Marks. Merlin would leave marks if those were his hands. Scratches down his thigh and around his hips. Maybe Arthur would let him. After all, it was only a bit of pleasure. Who cared how one got there? 

Merlin would flick out his tongue and trace the swirl of his leg hair. Feel the bounce of quivering thighs against his cheek. Bite down softly under a knee and then hard at the dip of his hip. Suck a bruise Arthur would feel in every step for the next week. 

Merlin’s hand fell to his cock. It pushed hard against his trousers. He pressed and the world spun with a pulse of pleasure. His vision blurred. He whined softly behind closed lips. 

Arthur scooped his cock up quickly. He closed a fist around himself tightly and bucked his hips up. The legs Merlin would have red and bleeding throbbed with the rock of his body.

Merlin sucked on his lips. He could be that fist. Any part of him Arthur would have. His hand, his mouth, a space between his arms, the gap between his thigh, his everything. He wanted the noises Arthur made to be a part of him. To enter him. To fill him. To be because of him. 

Arthur stopped thrusting his hips and started twisting his hand. He pumped his arm up and down fast. His legs kicked out straight. His fingers tightened along his thigh. His nails scratched against his skin. 

Merlin could not stand it any longer. Instantly he hated himself for it. He shoved his hand into his trousers and took himself up. He wanted to scream. It felt so good. Pleasure coursed through his center as he fucked his fist. His face crumpled. The tears were back. From pain or pleasure he could not tell. 

There was no turning back from this. If Arthur caught him, he would know Merlin really was a helpless little wanton martyr who was too weak to resist humping the wall in blissful agony at the whisper of a moan like the wretched virgin he was. That he was not above begging if it meant releasing his built up pleasure. He doubted even the harshest words of contempt would stop him. 

Arthur grunted. His breaths quick and hard. His face screwed tight. His mouth frozen open in desire. Every slap of flesh and hiss of air filled the room. Echoed and amplified behind the screen.

Merlin opened his mouth. He wanted to run his tongue over Arthur’s teeth. He wanted to swallow the sweat that dripped off his jaw. To taste the lines Arthur scratched into his own legs. His fist worked fast as he chased Arthur to his climax. 

Arthur’s body twitched. The chair squealed against the floor. He arched off the ground. His hand flailed to keep him upright. A silent scream caught along his lips as he held his breath. Cum streamed from between his fingers and splattered along his thighs. 

Merlin nearly fell. He never felt pleasure quite like it in his life. It ripped out of him from beyond his center. It came from the center of his magic. It flew through every part of his body in a rush. The world turned to black. He lifted off the ground and floated in his corner. Only after every ounce of pleasure was drained from him and every drop of cum splashed along the inside of his trousers did he fall. He hissed in a breath as he landed, knowing that made a sound. 

Arthur did not notice. He collected the streams of cum that landed inside his legs and lathered it along his chest. It soaked into his skin as he worked it down his center and over his legs. 

Merlin longed to be marked with that cum. To lap the opaque stain into his mouth. He could practically taste the salt mixed in with the filth along the floor. Drool pooled at the corner of his mouth as he panted air. 

Arthur sucked in his breath and rose slowly. He cleaned off his hands with a pair of dirty clothes, but left the cracking streaks of cum on his body, and changed into what he would wear under his armour. 

Merlin felt cum drying along his leg. He wanted to rub it along his own chest, to know what it was Arthur felt but he dare not risk more movement. 

Arthur returned to his seat and breathed deeply for a few moments more. He was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

George let him know his father was asking for him. Uther wanted to talk to him about his fight with Lord Harold and what Arthur should do. Arthur rose and left the room. 

Merlin waited a few moments to catch his breath against the stone tiles on the floor. He slowly pushed himself up and walked with shaky legs out from behind the privacy screen. He ran his hand over the back of Arthur’s chair. He leaned his head against the back of it. And breathed.


	9. Chapter 9

The horses were an impressive spectacle. With a far greater chance of injury this day, Gaius’ friend was tasked with caring for Gwen as he and Merlin watched the tourney. 

Merlin planned to leave with Prisca as soon as the matches were done. Prisca’s father would be busy removing his armour. They would steal off into the woods then. Merlin had faith Arthur and Morgana could handle whatever argument the action fueled. They would blame Merlin and Merlin was alright with that. Gwen was worth it. Arthur was worth it. 

Arthur. Gods even the thought of him had Merlin’s cock pulsing. He wanted to be sickened with himself, wanted to feel the loathsome pull of a love spell and the reluctant attraction that came with it. Not now. Now there was no deniability. The love spell won. The thump of his heart felt normal. 

After what Merlin did behind the privacy of a not-so-private screen there was no chance he could ever pretend again. He felt weak at the thought of making Arthur moan and groan into the crook of a shoulder or the dip of a pillow. His own body ached to be a part of the act. It vibrated with a need to ascend, so rarely felt in Merlin's life. It was wrong. It was what he longed for. It was disgusting. Wasn't it?

Merlin pinched his palm to snap himself out of it. 

The matches were one on one, which meant a longer day of battle. Merlin’s legs were aching by the time they reached the final fight. He was not looking forward to riding after this. 

As promised, the fight was between Prince Arthur and Lord Harold to settle the argument over honor in regards to the Lady Prisca. Merlin had to roll his eyes when he saw Prisca seated next to Morgana. They had given her a better chair, one of Morgana’s dresses, and a softer looking headwrap to cover her horns. As if her title really made an inch of padding and a bit of jewel’s difference. 

Morgana held Prisca’s hand and whispered to her. Morgana shook with the chill of the wind and wrapped the cloak of the infamous red dress around her arms. It still left her shoulders completely exposed. And really, where was the line? The erotic curve of neck to arm was enough to make Merlin’s stomach roll. Some sort of decorum must state a lady needed to hide her shoulders! 

Uther made his announcement and the fighting began. The horses were well practiced as they charged at one another. Harold proved to be well trained on his reliable hunting steed as he evaded most of Arthur’s blows with grace. He could not evade forever. 

Arthur parried a blow and pressed a diagonal hit that knocked Harold down and won the crowd’s affection. 

The fight continued with sand still falling in the hourglass. 

Arthur had the advantage of the high ground but Harold trudged through the mud and quickly yanked on Arthur’s saddle and pushed him off with his sword’s pommel. It was a dangerous move that lacked respect. 

The crowd booed. 

The battle hastily resumed on foot. 

Arthur excelled at this combat but Harold clearly had years of skill. They danced circles around one another, sharing blow for blow and hit for hit. They moved with explosive athleticism around the arena until they were both gasping for air, shoulders hunched from exhaustion. 

Harold charged and met Arthur’s sword with a clash. He threw his body weight behind the thrust and used the slippery ground to shove Arthur towards the section hosting the royal family. 

Arthur threw out a hand to balance himself against the fence and looked up, past his father and past Morgana and her bloody dress, to where Gwen would normally seat herself. Of course, there was no one there. 

Prisca’s jaw twitched. She clasped Morgana’s arm. 

Harold took advantage of Arthur’s pause and threw him to the ground with a kick to the gut. 

Arthur hastily climbed back up to his feet but he was shaken. 

Harold relentlessly attacked until Arthur was on his back once again. 

Arthur spread helpless in the mud. His helmet fell from his body. His sword was on the ground, out of reach. He held up a hand. “I yield.”

Uther looked furious.

Morgana looked horrified. 

Prisca looked... scared? Why? Her father had not lost. 

Harold yelled, “My people do not accept your yield!” He lifted his sword and screamed with spiteful rage. The gleam of metal poised to impale Arthur’s neck. 

Merlin ran before he knew why. It was as if time stood still but his vision was too blurry to make out and understand the images. His magic was tangible. Hot and pulsing through his blood at a vengeful beat. His arm raised and his hand extended towards Harold. 

Arthur would not die this day. If anyone was going to die, it was going to be Harold by lightning and then Merlin by fire shortly after. 

“I ic dom-”

“No!” Prisca screamed at the top of her lungs. 

Time started again. Slow and thick. 

Merlin halted his spell. 

Prisca threw her body over the fence and landed on her feet in the arena. She lunged for Arthur’s fallen sword and grasped it tightly in her hands. She swished it clumsily through the air as she charged through the muck. 

Harold thrust towards Arthur’s throat.

Arthur’s sword clanged. 

Harold’s sword fell to the ground. 

Prisca panted heavily as she held Arthur’s sword above his fallen body. 

Harold staggered back and forcefully removed his helmet. He stormed towards Prisca with his sword tip pointed at her chest. “You dare to threaten our-”

“Yes! I do!” Prisca yelled. She adjusted her grip and swung the sword. 

_Whap._

Metal sliced Harold’s neck with a wet smack. 

The crowd gasped. 

Harold’s body froze upright on the end of the sword. His mouth open in silent shock. His eyes glazed gray. 

Blood gushed from Harold’s jugular, staining his white beard pink. It poured into the air and rained over Arthur and Prisca and the filth below. 

Prisca’s arms shook and bent.

Harold collapsed with the shriek of metal armour. 

The crowd broke out in screams and chatter. 

Uther’s voice grew loud. 

Morgana yelled. 

Merlin ignored it all. He sprinted the rest of the way across the arena and slid on his knees to Arthur’s side. He carefully cradled Arthur’s head and leaned him against his chest. 

Arthur’s mouth was open. He stared at Prisca. Stunned. 

Merlin swept a hand over Arthur’s brow. The blood was all Harold’s. 

Gaius made it to Harold’s side but Harold was beyond any medical care.

Prisca leaned into the mud and picked up the silver sigil that fell from her father's split neck. She grasped it between shaking fingers and spun towards Merlin. Her pearly white teeth were a stark contrast to the blood pouring down her face. Manic eyes found his and wild laugh escaped her lips. 

~~{⊙.⊙}~~

Merlin stood in Arthur's rooms next to a bucket of water heating over the fire. People were cheering in the streets, throwing branches into the bonfire and chugging back mead. 

This was not a very good few days off so far. Merlin had not been able to partake in any festivities and his supposed ‘springtime love affair’ was suffering in the dungeons.

Well, there was one thing to smile about at least. 

Arthur’s voice carried through the hall before he crashed in. There were many people following him but he slammed the door on their faces while yelling, “-away! Not until tomorrow morning. I don’t want to see or speak to anyone!” 

“But- Your armour-” George flapped. 

“Get out!” Arthur yelled directly at him. 

George ran away. 

Arthur found Merlin standing by the fire. Arthur’s hair was a mess of red and brown. His face coated in blood and sweat. His buckles were half undone, as if he had been trying to remove his armour himself. 

“That goes for you too, Merlin,” Arthur said. 

Merlin took a rag, dipped it in the water, and held it out. 

Water pooled in his palm and curled down his wrist. Cooling as it trailed over his arm and soaked into the mud caking his tunic. 

Arthur stared at the rag, at him, and then finally took it. He moved to the small fire Merlin started and wiped the blood and mud from his face. 

This night was also a cold one. 

Merlin remained silent as he undid the buckles on Arthur’s armour. He did not allow himself any extra touches. He worked quietly and quickly until Arthur was freed. 

Arthur held out the cloth. It dripped muddy water onto the floor. Barely audible above the crackle of the fire.

Merlin took the rag from Arthur’s outstretched hand and dunked it in the warm water. The pail clouded with grime and sweat. He rang the cloth out and managed to take out the worst of the dried patches before refreshing the cloth again.

“She’s been arrested,” Arthur said to the flames. 

Merlin nodded to his back. His smile refused to stay down. “I know.”

“I can’t do anything,” Arthur said.

“I know,” Merlin said again. He ran the cloth over the back of Arthur’s neck and into his hair. His thumb slid against wet skin. Damp hair clung to his fingers. It was the same spot he rubbed when they were in the corridor together. The spot Arthur let him touch. He sucked in a shaky breath as it happened again. 

Arthur looked at him sideways. Firelight gleaming over his glistening face. “Then why are you here? What do you want from me?”

Merlin forced his gaze to the bucket of filthy water, for fear of telling the truth. He settled on a half truth, a tactic that was painfully commonplace. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Fine,” Arthur snapped. “Saved by a girl.”

Merlin nodded. He was not wrong.

Arthur's pout grew adorably pathetic. Complete with jutting bottom lip and clenched jaw. 

“Harold did not fight honorably in a fight for honor.” Merlin shrugged. “It was a stupid fight. We didn’t even kidnap Prisca.”

“A battle for honor is not stupid,” Arthur hissed. 

“True.” Merlin squeezed his grip on Arthur’s neck. “But this one was.”

Arthur grunted. 

Merlin’s cock twitched. Was the cum still on Arthur’s stomach and thighs? It was impossible to view down his shirt at this angle. Perhaps Arthur would want another bath. There would be no hiding the stains of his pleasure then. His fingers dug into the muscles of Arthur's neck, twitching towards the collar of his tunic. 

“My father will have you as a witness for her trial tomorrow morning,” Arthur said. 

Merlin nodded and removed his hand and the rag. “I will be there.”

Hopefully he could attend without fantasizing about ripping all of Arthur's clothes off, throwing him on the throne, and licking him clean with his tongue. He doubted Uther would be very understanding that a love spell forced these thoughts and actions upon him. A love spell that pooled in the pit of his gut with nerves of anticipation rather than queasy revulsion. 

Arthur stared at him. His frown was set. His brown pinched down. “How is she?”

Merlin’s own brow pinched. Prisca was in the dungeons, probably cold and miserable. Hopefully, anyway. Arthur knew that. 

Arthur’s fury raised sharp and hot like the flames of the bonfire. “Guinevere.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open in the shape of an _oh_ but it was too late. 

Arthur rounded on him with a finger in Merlin’s face. “Do not mistake me, Merlin. Guinevere’s life hangs in the balance. You will not forget the importance of caring for your patient simply because a girl has caught your eye. I will not stand to see you throw away Gwen for a woman who you could never be with!”

Merlin wondered if Arthur realized how ironic it was. That he was yelling at Merlin for fancying a lady when he was torn up by his love of a servant. In another life maybe they were on the same side of their love affair. 

Merlin’s smile was small and bitter. His jaw clenched painfully. As much as he wanted to scream at Arthur's condescending, prattish tone -all he could really imagine was kissing that grimace away. Anything to keep Arthur happy and stop the intense stabbing pain clawing at his chest. “I have not forgotten, my lord. Love can make us foolhardy and cloud our vision. I will not let my feelings blind me to what is truly important.”

~~|>。<۵|~~

The dungeons were easy to sneak into. Everyone was distracted by food and drink. The guards were child’s play this time. 

For a moment Merlin paused. The Great Dragon’s cell was emptied. He never wished to see that beast again. However, there was a part of him that longed for a teacher, a tutor who could help him. Tell him who Prisca was, what she wanted, and how to kill her. How to get rid of the spell blooming in his chest like a rose. Flowering at gentile touches and stinging sharp from thorned words. 

Then again, Kilgharrah was always useless. Always.

Prisca sat in the shadows of her corner in the cell. Blood soaked her hair and the front of Morgana’s dress, hiding any bruises from her now exposed neck. Bone white antlers looked like dual swords piercing her skull and draining her life onto the dirty ground. She stared up at the ceiling and jingled the shackles around her wrist as she played with a shard of hay. 

“Why did you save him?” Merlin asked when he arrived. The moonlight streaming in from above threw strange shadows over his body. 

“Are you not happy?” Prisca asked and pointed with her hay at the corner Merlin was closest to. “Careful. There are too many spiders.” She held up her arm and mocked a pout. “One bit me.”

“Whose side are you on?” Merlin asked calmly. “I thought you wanted to take Camelot over. Why did you not let your father kill Arthur?”

Prisca scoffed and tossed her hay to the ground. “ _Father._ Barely. He was a herder.”

“Herder of what?” Merlin asked. 

Prisca turned to him, stepped gingerly to her feet, and smiled. The chains clinked quietly as she stalked forward. Her mud soaked bare feet stomped over the soft red wrap gifted to her. “You are asking intelligent questions, Emrys. I am a good influence on you.” She tilted as far as she could. Her horns clicked along the bars. “When will they be releasing me, dear lover?”

Merlin looked down the hall but there was no one there. Her endearment was as welcome as a plague. “Your trial is in the morning.”

Prisca hummed and pouted. “That does not give your dear Gwen much time before the gates close at sunset. We still need to do our hunt.”

“Gates to where?” Merlin asked. "Hunt for what?"

Prisca grinned at him. She leaned forward and grabbed her cuffs with her fingers. “These are uncomfortable. Be a dear and loosen them for me.”

Merlin smirked and shook his head. She was evading almost as well as Kilgharrah. “It would look strange if you did not have bruises tomorrow.”

Prisca leaned back and laughed. It cracked the dried blood on her face. The wrinkles left behind made her look even older. “This is what I have been waiting for! Go ahead and bruise me, my dear.”

Merlin walked up to the bars. The cold of the iron grazed his temple. “Tomorrow I will ensure your freedom in return for something.”

“Oh?” Prisca leaned forward until her chain forced her to stop. Her breath mingled with Merlin’s. Sickly sweet from the wine reserved for the nobles. “You will ensure my freedom and my ability to stay in Camelot for the sake of your friend’s life and your love’s heart. If you want something you will need to give me something else in return.”

The small sense of victory Merlin felt at finding the right path of questioning evaporated. There was always something. She always had one up on him. One step ahead. No move seemed to correlate to the move before or after. If he left her, Gwen would die. If he freed her, his mother could die. Gaius could die. Arthur could die. 

“Nothing you do makes sense!” Merlin flung up his hands and smacked the bars. 

Prisca did not so much as flinch. 

Merlin hissed at the pain but curled his fingers around the iron. “What do you want?!”

Prisca mocked a pout at his outburst. “I want your truth potion.” 

Nothing. Made. Sense. “You could make it yourself.”

“You’re bad at bartering,” Prisca said bluntly. She spun back to her corner of the dungeon and gracefully folded onto the floor. She picked up a new strand of hay and stroked it. “And no. I do not have magic. It requires magic to work properly or else the Seer’s tears will make a mess of themselves.”

Merlin swallowed thickly. Prisca was still bettering him. Maybe that was why she gave him the tears. She planned it all along. Another deal she concocted. Another deal where she could use him. Steal his only chance of outing her. But Merlin was there, on the arena floor, his arm raised, saying magic words in front of everyone in Camelot. He was about to throw himself on the stake to protect Arthur without thinking it through. He would never do that before the love spell. Surely. He would come up with a subtle plan and save him. He would. 

Love made him foolhardy and clouded his vision.

“The love spell. I need it broken.”

Prisca tilted her head and seemed to ask the spiders for their opinions. “Why? You seem to be handling it very well.” She laid the hay over her heart and swooned. “Do you not feel its joy when he walks in the room? Does he not bring you new life? What could be so hard about feeling such ardor?”

Merlin bit his lip to prevent hurling a spell at her that would drive her into the wall. “You know how to undo it.”

Prisca gasped. “Of course I do. Kisses come full circle.” Her chuckles returned. Coarse, rusted, rotted, unstable echoes that dripped into the filth.

Kisses. 

Merlin had no true love. Would he be cursed forever?

"Ouch!" Merlin hissed at the sharp burst of pain on his hand. He swatted the spider off him and onto the dungeon floor. 

Prisca chuckled mildly and sang, "I warned you." 

~~（么ゝ么）~~

Gwen was in the same state. At least she was not getting worse. Not yet.

Gaius had his nose stuck in a book about sleeping spells. Merlin took up a book about magical creatures. 

Useless. Without Prisca, Gwen would die. 

Gaius trudged off to sleep in Merlin’s room. 

Merlin continued his research while stirring together his hidden herbs and the tears of a Seer. 


	10. Chapter 10

The trial went about as well as expected. Luckily, Merlin did not need to talk very much. He recounted the lie of finding Prisca in the woods and silenced once he reached the part of the tale where he passed out due to a bunny’s diet. 

It was left to Uther, Arthur, and Morgana to argue. 

“She killed a nobleman. Her very own father, no less,” Uther said. He sat hunched on his throne, clenched with anger and stress. The festival had not been kind to him either. “And has shown no remorse for the act.” The throne creaked under his hold. “She should die for her crimes.”

“If you knew what that man did to her you would not be calling him noble,” Morgana argued passionately from her chair. “Prisca, however, saved your son’s life!”

“Yes,” Uther hummed and looked unhappily at Arthur. “Saved by a lady.”

“As-” Arthur grit his teeth, “-unfortunate the circumstances, that is true, father.” 

“Oh, for all the love in the world!” Morgana cried out. “If a knight had intervened we would be talking of reward and not of death. They are of noble blood and have killed noblemen.”

“And if they killed their own father,” Uther said cooly, “-they would be punished for their crime.”

The stale air of the room lacked mercy. 

Merlin smirked. 

Morgana’s jaw twitched, holding back another scream. 

Arthur stood from his chair and paced in front of it, a finger repeatedly thumping his chin. The look made Merlin’s smirk rise. He wondered if Arthur thought he looked devilishly handsome with that pose and practiced in front of his mirror. Perhaps, as a small child, that was an assignment for royals. To learn to be stubbornly attractive and properly vain.

Uther continued, “Lord Harold was an important ally. I do not wish to make enemies of his people.”

The tone Uther took when saying ‘important ally’ had Merlin blinking past the haze. That tone was reserved for those involved in the war against magic. Allies of Uther were enemies of Emrys. If Harold was Prisca’s father, then why was his daughter… whatever creature she was? Mutant jackalope or grotesque chimera? Unless Prisca had not been lying when she said Harold was a herder rather than a father? Whatever that meant. Then why did she call out ‘father’? And if Harold was an ally to Uther and Prisca was enemy to them both, then what did that make Prisca to Merlin? Or Merlin to Prisca? He loathed to put together the pieces of that puzzle. 

“Then we send the girl back,” Arthur said simply. “Her night in the dungeon will be the payment for her crimes here. With her father gone and his estate in the balance, I’m sure she will have no reason to stay.” Arthur glanced at Merlin before staring down his father. “Present her unharmed and allow her king to execute the punishment for patricide.”

Even that small glance had Merlin’s heart pounding warm down his chest and into his belly. Desperately eating up the slightest acknowledgement because he was starved for it. The look of a silent apology, muted and flimsy, urged Merlin to instantly forgive. To chase after Arthur and fall to his knees and tell him all the truths he possibly could. To never lie to him again so that Arthur would always know that Arthur was Merlin’s priority. Always. Merlin’s legs twitched to kneel and declare it now, in this throne room full or royals, for everyone to see. 

The first knee bent. 

“No!” Morgana shouted. 

Merlin straightened and glared at the ceiling. The spider bite itched furiously and he scratched at it behind his back while scouring the ramparts for more offenders. Luckily his manic twitching did not draw any gazes. Even if they had, he had a good excuse! The thought of walking towards Arthur on his knees would have any man twitching. With self-hatred of course. Nothing else. Nothing. 

“Morgana,” Uther warned. “What Arthur suggests is more than fair. I know you have grown attached to the girl but you must see past your emotions. Actions must be taken.”

“You’re doing this because of her curse,” Morgana hissed. A glint of familiar fear sparkled in her eyes. If one looked close enough, they would see the unflappable ward’s shaking fist clutching the arm of her chair, simultaneously trying to hide in its strong corners and fling herself off the edge. “First you welcome her and now that her antlers have been revealed to the people, you will find any excuse to rid of her!”

Uther stood from his throne and crowded over Morgana. “Do not assume you know my mind, girl!”

Morgana stood and shouted, “I know your heart!”, and fled from the room. 

Merlin opened his mouth to whisper something to her, something kind and supportive for scared kin. Terrified of banishment or worse.

Morgana did not find him in the crowd. She glared straight ahead and bolted with hopeless desperation. 

Prisca got to her. She must have made the same demand of Morgana that she did Merlin. To be freed. Or else. Prisca had her claws and her fangs rooted into the heart of Camelot. Gods only knew what lies Prisca told Morgana to make her risk the wrath of King Uther. Did she threaten to reveal her dreams?

Merlin grit his teeth and scraped his nails across the spider’s bite again. A fruitless effort. The bite was too deep. 

Uther turned to Arthur. He held no kindness in his voice as he spoke. “See that your savior is made aware. Spare two knights to accompany her to the border. I will send word to her kingdom. She is your responsibility now. I do not want our people to think patricide is a forgivable crime. Keep her out of sight and execute her banishment.”

“Yes, father,” Arthur bowed and left without looking at Merlin. 

~~०↰ㅅ↱०~~

Merlin waited by the stables. There were no clouds in the sky. Only bright blue light and a sun too blinding to look at. Far too low in the sky for Merlin’s liking. Gwen was running out of time. 

Suddenly the world was sideways and all the wind was knocked from his lungs. Prisca slammed into his side and squeezed him as tight as she could. Her horns knocked into the side of his head and scraped along the barn. The screech rattled his eardrums. 

Merlin shoved her off roughly. “You’re late.”

“I had to calm the Lady Morgana before evading my guards.” Prisca gestured to herself. She was wearing trousers and a blouse borrowed from Morgana’s wardrobe. “She was under the impression that the king will have me banished and that I was going to be spending all day fucking my lover.” She blinked up at him as she adjusted her hair into a bun at her neck. A new, clean red wrap was tucked perfectly into place around her head. “That’s not true, is it, Emrys?” 

Prisca’s head tilted in a way that perfectly exposed her vulnerable throat, covered in a new white wrap. Perfect to strangle with. The memory of its feel made Merlin’s palm itch. 

“Patricide is not something Uther takes kindly to,” Merlin said shortly. He knelt to the ground and grabbed the bows and arrows. As he stood, he had the thought of shoving one arrow directly through the hidden spider bite on her arm. Perhaps hitting an important vein and causing her to lose too much blood. A tragedy no one but Morgana would mourn. Morgana would move on as soon as Gwen awakened. A reminder of exactly why Merlin could not kill her. 

Prisca hastily accepted the weapons hesitantly outstretched and easily slipped them into place. 

“Uther wouldn’t, would he?” Prisca laughed at herself. “Well, we’ll put a right stop to that when we get back and you give me my potion.”

The potion was hiding in the corner of a forgotten tower. Collecting dust on the windowsill as it sat in the sun’s light. Ready for use the moment the moon’s rays touched the liquid. 

“And you break the love spell,” Merlin reminded her through gritted teeth.

Prisca hummed and raised the bow to her sightline. Unloaded, she scanned the area around them and landed on Merlin, aiming her imagined arrow at his forehead. “Only you can break the love spell.”

Every second with her only brought more grief. 

There was a crunch and Prisca dove for the barn door, hiding behind the closest crate. The stable boy arrived with two horses in tow. 

Merlin hated calling Lady Prisca his love but being with a noblewoman had sway. Apparently the boy was willing to trade a slab of meat and some of Gaius’ cooling salve for two horses and no gossip. 

Merlin held out his half of the trade and eyed the crate Prisca hid behind warrily. He muttered as quietly as he could. “A word of warning on the salve. It’s strong and not meant for-” He glanced at Prisca again and winced, “-sensitive areas.”

The stable boy snatched the satchel out of Merlin's hand. “Spend less time worrying about my sensitive areas and more about your own.” He looked directly at Prisca -her red wrap sticking out painfully obvious- and snorted. “Sensitive.”

Prisca jumped up as soon as the boy was gone. “Did you see how red his face was?!” She clapped gleefully and grasped her cheeks with delight. “His cheeks like tiny ripe tomatoes. I could just eat him up!” She leaned against the crate to watch him exit the barn. “Maybe I will, when this trip is over.” 

Merlin tossed the reins of her horse at her and growled, “Don’t you want to go back home? Your father is dead now.”

“Blessed be my luck and aim,” Prisca cheered and hopped on her horse without answering him. 

Prisca led their horses to a clearing a few hours away from the castle. It was a flat field of grass dotted with yellow and pink flowers. Near the trees Merlin could just barely make out clusters of white dots that made a near perfect circle. There was a trickle of magic tickling the air but other than that it seemed like every other field in Camelot. 

Prisca paused in the center of it all and stared at the sky. 

Merlin followed her gaze but only saw a sun falling quickly towards the earth. 

Prisca nodded once and got off her horse near the edge of the clearing, gesturing for Merlin to do the same. Prisca slipped her quiver forward and pulled out all of her arrows. They balanced precariously in both her outstretched hands. “Enchant these.”

Merlin, knowing they were alone, still looked around them to make sure no one overheard. The threat of Prisca watching his mother was very real. Spies lurking in the trees. Waiting for Prisca to signal. For all he knew Prisca was baiting him now and Uther’s knights were waiting in the brush, ready to attack and arrest. For now, it seemed they were alone. 

“With what?” he asked. 

Prisca sighed and pulled out a single arrow from her bunch. “It doesn’t matter. As long as they have been touched by magic they will work.”

Merlin slowly grabbed the arrow from her and held it in front of his face. “You still haven’t told me what we are doing.”

“I will.” She looked around them and gestured for him to move to the center of the clearing with her. “Now do it.”

Merlin waved the arrow in his hand over the others. He pulled at his magic and let it flow, soaking into every piece of wood and showering the metal tips. 

“Ġefindaþ.”

Golden sparks swirled around Prisca’s hands and down his back until every arrow was blanketed in magic. Merlin sucked in a breath and forced his magic right back down. It was an odd sensation, odder than usual. Rather than settle into his bones and simmer, ready to react at his call, it seeped into his chest like boiling soup and pulled sharp and painful at his heartstrings. A poignant reminder that the love spell was in effect even when Arthur was nowhere near. 

Prisca stepped uncomfortably close and stared into his eyes as they faded back to blue. Her smile was small and genuine. Softer than anything else she had ever presented. Nauseating. 

“Was that a spell to find the arrows or for them to find their targets?” Prisca asked. The sincere curiosity only made Merlin's uneasy feeling grow. 

“Both,” Merlin said simply and stepped backward. The green scene around them was far too familiar. Dejavu crept in like an unwelcome friend. Surely she could not put a spell on him twice. Merlin feared to know what it would be like to be under two separate love spells. A heart torn in two by magic. 

Prisca’s eyebrows raised. Her smile returned to the haughty clench of fangs he was used to. “Impressive, Emrys. We shall not miss today.”

Merlin frowned at her as she loaded her first arrow and took aim at the treeline. There was no movement. No creatures in the brush. Nowhere for them to hide if a creature took charge. 

“How do you know so many spells?” Merlin asked her in the silence. Too much silence. Not even the birds were singing. 

Prisca shrugged as she spun in a circle, never taking her eye off the tip of her loaded arrow. “I speak the language.”

Merlin stared at the deceptive gentle curves of nose, lips, and cheek that made Prisca look soft and fragile. One poisonous bite away from destroying everything. A web of lies too difficult to follow. To find her and smash her against a wall with a boot. 

There were at least a thousand more questions Merlin wanted to ask. Before he could talk, Prisca was growling. It croaked low in her throat and erupted unnaturally loud. More animal than human.

“There,” she sneered at the treeline. 

A red deer stared back at them. It stood tall and unafraid, hooves grazing the white dots. Its gaze met Prisca’s. 

Prisca let loose the arrow. 

The deer ran but Prisca aimed for that jump. The arrow pierced the deer’s side swiftly with a slap. 

“Come on!” Prisca yelled. “There’s more of them!” 

Merlin turned. The treeline was suddenly full of round eyes. Red deer the color of baked clay. White deer as pure as fresh snow. All antlers pure gold. Peeking over the brush and around the trees, they were larger than the average does and bucks. Taller than him. Tall as the horses. Surrounding them. They all held vacant stares directed solely at them. Directly at Prisca. 

Merlin quickly loaded an arrow and gazed at every deer over the metal tip. He swallowed. The only sound was his feet twisting in the grass and his ragged breathing. “There must be thirty of them.”

“Aim true,” Prisca said. She targeted a white deer and released another arrow. It stuck through the creature’s neck with a smack and forced it to the ground. 

Merlin spun back around and tentatively let his magic float once again. Without the direction of a spell or object to hold, it danced. Free, finally free. It spread beyond the treeline and beyond his hold. It fluttered far along the path they took, fighting its way back to Camelot. Back to Arthur. 

Merlin sucked in and grabbed the reins on his magic and _tugged._ As much as Arthur would love to be hunting his feelings away, and would no doubt be jealous if Merlin brought back a stag, his magic could not call Arthur. The love spell would be gone soon and this involuntary pull to be near Arthur would be gone as well. It had to be. 

Magic swirled to the deer. Something felt wrong. The vacancy in their eyes felt like hot coal against the brush of magic. A vengeful purpose compacted into the herd. They were after Prisca. But if they were after Prisca, why would Merlin help her in killing them? 

A deer charged from the brush. It was large and fat. Its head down low. Golden antlers stuck up towards their humanoid hearts. Hooves beat against the ground like drums. It directed its charge at Merlin. 

Merlin’s eyes widened and he freed his arrow. Helped by his earlier spell, it floated into the air and drove straight into the creature’s head. Merlin’s heart thudded in momentary regret as the beast’s vacant stare somehow emptied. It fell. Then, vanished the instant it touched the earth. 

“What the-” Merlin muttered. 

“All of them, Merlin!” Prisca shouted. She unleashed a stream of arrows as she loaded one after another. Every arrow was true to its mark, sending beast after beast falling to the forest floor to disappear in a puff of white and red smoke. “Emrys is on my side! You should have never come!” 

“I am not on your side!” Merlin only took aim at those that charged for him. 

They spun back to back with their weapons raised. Prisca’s war cries evolved into savage growls. The horses whinnied. Merlin’s breath came sharp and fast. He adjusted his grip on his bow. 

Prisca aimed at a beast coming at them but missed the deer attacking from her right. Merlin took aim but waited. The beast came closer, leaping over a fallen branch and speeding towards them. Prisca’s back was flat against his. If he moved too soon, Prisca would feel him. A wounded Prisca would be easier to track. Easier to control. Easier to stop. 

Merlin pinched his eyes, aimed his bow, but did not shoot. He held his breath.

Prisca spun and caught sight of the stag. She had no arrow loaded. She turned and shoved Merlin’s back, pushing him into the ground. 

Merlin landed on his bow and felt the crunch of the arrow under his thigh. 

Prisca spun and wound up her legs, kicking out at the moment the doe came over them. 

The beast was too big to fall and stumbled midway only to rise again. Prisca reached behind her blindly and took an arrow from Merlin’s quiver. She screamed. 

The stag stampeded. 

Prisca jumped up and shoved the arrow into the beast’s neck. 

It puffed into smoke that wafted over the two. 

Merlin ground his face into the dirt and swore. His leg stung. 

Prisca took aim. The remaining deer were fleeing. She made quick work of stealing more arrows from Merlin’s quiver and sprinted to her horse. She charged after the few that ran off at a full gallop. 

“I’ll get those two, you get the last one!” Prisca yelled at him. “None can escape or Gwen will die!”

Merlin groaned and mounted his own steed to follow. A bright spot of red trickled down his leg. It was a shallow wound that would not require much more than a wrap and some salve but it would be a pain for days to come. 

Prisca chased the two that stayed side by side as Merlin followed the third that split from the pack. It was a red deer but it had a white underbelly and a white tail. It’s golden antlers made it easy to track through the brush. Gold glinting between the leaves, like magic twirling around the arrows. It leapt easily through the forest floor until it came across a large pond. 

The deer froze. 

Merlin took aim atop his horse. 

The stag looked at him, at eye level now, but did not charge. It simply looked. 

Merlin looked back. There was no recognition in those eyes. No sign of harm or peace. It was as if one of the stuffed mounts in Uther’s trophy room grew a body and came to life. 

“Why are you here?” Merlin asked the deer. 

The deer looked at him. 

“Who are you? Who is Pirsca?”

The deer looked at him. 

“What are you?”

The deer looked at him and then took a step back. One leg went into the pond. Then another. Then another. 

Merlin’s face crumpled. He adjusted his aim again. Thoughts of Gwen’s limp hand in his flooded his mind.

The deer did not look away as it slowly crept back. One step at a time. The water barely rippled. Soon, its entire body was completely submerged. The sparkle of its horns slowly disappeared under the murky green surface.

A bird chirped. A rodent squeaked. 

Merlin stared at the ripples left behind. He lowered his weapon limply to his side. 

Had he just cost Gwen her life? 

Merlin felt heavy and empty as he rode back to the clearing and waited for Prisca. 

Prisca whooped as she rode in. She held her bow above her head and cheered. “The hags are gone!”

“What were those things?” Merlin demanded, still in shock. He dismounted and picked up the arrows that lay on the ground. They had no blood. No sign of having touched anything. He found one embedded in one of the white dots -a mushroom, skewered on his arrowhead. “Why did they disappear?”

“Emrys!” Prisca held up her hands and waved at him. “Stop asking questions and enjoy this victory! They are gone!”

Prisca cheered as Merlin chewed his cheek.

~~{∸೧.∸}~~

Merlin led the way back to the castle at full speed. He only stopped them at the forest line to stow the bows and arrows so he could return them at nightfall. 

Prisca hopped off her horse and searched the ground. 

“We need to go save Gwen,” Merlin demanded, urging her towards Gaius’ chambers. 

“One moment,” Prisca mumbled and kept her eyes glued to the ground. “Ah!” She leapt down and pulled up a mushroom from the ground. This one had a red bulb that was dotted with white spots. “Now we can go.”

"I already had a mushroom," Merlin grumbled to himself but ultimately decided it was not worth the argument.

Merlin did not bother stopping at the stables. He rode as close to Gaius’ chamber as he dared. The sun was setting. They were going to run out of time. 

They charged into the room. There was a woman sitting next to Gwen. She had a cloth against Gwen’s forehead and was mumbling to herself. “-dear girl. A long sleep- Hello?” She spun towards the two of them. “You must be Merlin.” She smiled warmly up at him, paying no mind to his frantic state. Her eyes landed on Prisca and she immediately rose to her feet and flattened out her skirts. “Lady Prisca,” she bowed. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Where’s Gaius?” Merlin demanded. 

“Why, he’s at the tournament.” The woman smiled kindly at him. “I’m Loretta. He asked me to stay with her while he’s away.” She gestured back to Gwen who had taken a turn for the worse. Her skin was growing pale. Her lips were cracking. Her breaths were barely visible. 

“Can you fetch him?” Merlin asked. “We think we have a way to help Gwen.”

Loretta’s smile did not quite reach her eyes. She was looking at Prisca.

Prisca nodded enthusiastically and held up the mushroom as if it were the cup of life, smiling like a loon behind the dangling roots. 

Merlin did not blame Loretta for her look of disbelief. 

Loretta said, “I doubt I can steal him away but I will deliver the message and return post haste.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said. 

As soon as Loretta left, Prisca held up the mushroom and gestured at Gwen. “Go on then. Put the toadstool in her mouth.”

Merlin snatched the mushroom from her by the bulb. He ran over to Gwen and gently pried open her mouth. He shook the mushroom over the floor, being careful not to break it. 

“What are you doing?” Prisca asked peevishly. 

“It has dirt on it,” Merlin snapped. 

“Oh, just put it in!”

Merlin gently placed the mushroom over Gwen’s open mouth. The roots dangled in first, falling over her tongue and landing at the back of her throat. The mushroom stood tall on its own. Gwen made no move to spit it out. 

“It’s not working,” Merlin growled. 

Gwen’s chest stopped rising. He held his ear next to her nose but heard no breath.

“Magic, moron,” Prisca snapped. “Instead of commanding her to wake up, command her to come back.”

Merlin glared at Gwen’s imobile form. “That was it this whole time?!”

“Well-” Prisca gave an exaggerated shrug. “We can pretend it was something more if you want.”

Merlin had no time to feel the rage pulsing within. He stood at the head of Gwen’s cot and held his hand over her. He knew no spells like this. He could make objects come back to him but that was not what he wanted to do. He did not want to accidentally fling Gwen to the corner of the room like a broom. 

Magic let loose from their hunt was already dancing from his fingers as he dropped them on her shoulders. He tried to focus it towards Gwen but it shrank back. It danced at his fingertips only to zip back up his arm with a painful smack. Something inside him was twining around his magic, preventing him from doing this. Something pulsing hot from his chest, pulling sharp on his heartstrings.

“Your love spell is interfering!” Merlin yelled. 

“Say words! _Make_ your magic listen!” Prisca yelled back. 

“What words?!” 

“Edcierr. Wait. No.” Prisca sighed and tapped her chin as she looked up. “Efthwierfeþ. Yes, that’s it. Efthwierfeþ.”

“You had better be right about this,” Merlin warned. 

Prisca waved a hand at him and gestured for him to move on with it. 

Merlin closed his eyes and breathed. Magic fluttered to his fingers and he shoved it over Gwen. It clung to her like dew. It spiralled up and down her body in a river of gold. It fluttered over the bulb of the mushroom and made the white spots glow. Merlin refused to give into the way his magic scurried to get away from his call and grit his teeth as his heart yanked his arms back. 

“Efthwierfeþ,” Merlin demanded. 

The glow pulsed. Merlin stumbled back as magic ebbed and flowed to the beat of Gwen’s heart. Every pulse brightened the magic. It traveled from her toes to her knees to her stomach to her chest to her head. It funneled into the mushroom in her mouth until the forest plant was as bright as the sun. Merlin squinted to see Gwen’s face. 

Gwen coughed. 

The mushroom faded. 

Gwen was suddenly on her side spitting the mushroom out. 

The mushroom was rotten. White and gray and limp on the ground. 

Gwen coughed again. 

Merlin ran to her side and rubbed her back. “Gwen?”

Gwen looked up at him between her coughs but that was all she had strength for. 

“The Gods have smiled on us this Beltane,” Prisca sang into the room. “For Gwen has returned unharmed!” 

~~(⌒.⌒‵)~~

Loretta returned, surprised to see Gwen sitting up and drinking water. Prisca left to sneak back to Morgana who had declined attending the festivities and was hiding in her rooms to dissuade Prisca's guards. Merlin left for the tournament.

The last day of the tourney was hand to hand combat. Due to the festivities, the wine drunk, and the laughter that followed at their fellow comrade’s expense, it usually turned into a glorified wrestling match. 

The knights had tents they could prepare themselves in. Those that finished all their matches were drinking outside of them. Naturally, Arthur was still inside his tent. 

Merlin walked in without pretense. 

Arthur sat slumped with his head in his hands. He had a cup of something he sipped out of. He did not even look up. “What have I told you about knocking?”

Merlin’s smile went all the way to his eyes. The familiar tone was another silent apology. One Merlin accepted with open arms. “It’s a tent. How would you even know if I did knock?”

Arthur sighed audibly. 

Merlin could not wait any longer. “Gwen’s awake.”

Arthur froze. The hope was back. His eyes wide and upturned. Joy snuck into his features, waiting for Merlin to smash it back down. 

Merlin refused. He nodded. 

Arthur laughed excitedly. He bounced to his feet and slapped Merlin on the shoulder. 

Merlin smiled just as big and savoured the feeling of Arthur’s palm on his bicep. 

“This calls for a celebration!” Arthur cheered. He held up his cup and Merlin took it. Arthur grabbed a deerskin and raised it in salute. “To Gwen.”

Merlin raised his glass. “To Gwen.”

They both took a gulp. 

Merlin nearly spit his sip back up. It was burning hot and tasted of cinnamon and pain. “What the hell is this?”

Arthur laughed at him outright as he took Merlin’s cup away and handed him the deerskin instead. “Whiskey, Merlin.”

“It’s awful,” Merlin hissed. He looked down at the deerskin and his mouth fell into an _oh._ He tucked it behind his back and faced Arthur. “I would stay to watch your match but I have to go back.”

Arthur smirked at him and shook his head. “Back to your lady. She did get her own room. Try not to be found leaving it in the morning. You’ll be back to your duties bright and early.”

Merlin’s smile fell short. “I look forward to it.”

Arthur’s smile fell as well. He placed his hand back on Merlin’s shoulder and squeezed. “You have saved my heart this day, Merlin. I wish I could do the same.”

Merlin pinched his lips and looked into Arthur’s earnest expression. There was a way for Merlin’s heart to be saved. A kiss. The thump of fire in his chest drowned out all rational. At the moment, Arthur’s plump lips looked arrogantly soft. 

George was there in a second to ruin a beautiful moment. “Sire,” he said, “They are ready for you.”

“I’ll be right there,” Arthur said happily. Blissfully unaware. 

George eyed Merlin warrily and nodded, leaving the tent.

“Beltane,” Arthur said sagely, “Is a celebration of life, love, and pleasure. All three are felt more potently at this time of year.” He pointed around the cup in his hand and poked Merlin’s chest. “I should be dissuading you from all of this. But-” He shook Merlin briefly and clapped him once more before releasing him. “Celebrate.”

Merlin stared at the other end of the tent. The mud stains traveled up the walls. There were at least two holes. This was the best one for a prince?

Arthur’s gaze fell and his brow furrowed. “What happened to your leg?”

Merlin hastily covered his thigh with his hand. The blood was very obvious, wasn’t it? Yet, Arthur was the first one to notice. “It’s just a scratch.”

“Have Giaus look at it, will you?” Arthur teased, “You’re so frail, you would die from a splinter.”

Aw. He cared. Merlin shook his head, “Of course, Sire. I’ll get right to it.”

Arthur opened the flap and called back, “Do not get a noblewoman pregnant. I can only imagine the monster you would bear. With her horns and your ears-” Arthur visibly cringed.

Merlin snorted. “Don’t get saved by a girl this time.”

Arthur threw his empty cup at Merlin’s back. 

Merlin smiled. The fire burned in his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Pirsca’s room was nowhere near as grand as Morgana’s but it suited royalty for a night. A big bed sat in the center with fluffy white sheets. The vanity was large and ornate with a mirror where a lady could apply her paints. Nothing Merlin associated with Prisca whatsoever. She belonged out in the woods, foraging for her dinner in the dirt with all the other wild animals. 

Merlin only needed to wait a few minutes. The feast had been called. Everyone would need to get ready. Lady Prisca included. Somehow, Morgana had convinced Uther to allow Prisca to attend Appearances were everything to Uther. The gossip spread like wildfire. Lord Harold was an awful and abusive man. His treatment of Prisca, yelling at Uther, and threatening Prince Arthur’s life was enough to confirm. The people loved Arthur. Prisca saved Arthur. The people loved Morgana. Morgana loved Prisca. Uther had no choice. 

Prisca entered her room with a handmaid named Anna trailing behind her. Anna was young, maybe fourteen. Her mother raised and trained her to be a very dedicated worker. It was perfect practice for her to serve a lady destined to be banished. 

“Merlin!” Prisca gasped and fanned her face with her fingers at the sight of a man in her room. Her faux daintiness reminded Merlin of a pig wearing a dress. Clunky, ugly, and covered in shite. “To what do I owe this pleasure? Anna was about to help me dress for the feast. There would be far too much gossip if I allowed you to stay.”

Anna ignored the two of them and laid out another clean dress of Morgana’s. Red and white like the mushroom.

Merlin scowled at the dress and pat his pocket. “I brought you what you wished me to bring.”

“Ah,” Prisca said and eyed Anna and the closed door the guards stood directly outside of. Prisca gave a flirtatious wink and licked her lips. “And you shall have what you wish at a proper moment.” 

Anna continued to pull out shoes, completely unaware or trained very well indeed. 

Merlin supposed he should be glad Prisca decided not to declare his love for Arthur in front of a handmaid. That would surely bring worse gossip than the love of a deer-lady. Or would it? The stable boy either had hay lodged in his throat or muttered about Merlin foraging for a doe-job when he handed the horses over.

“Now what is that?” Prisca pointed to the deerskin leaning against the mirror on her vanity. “Have you brought us something to toast?”

Merlin placed his hands behind his back and nodded as respectfully as he could muster. “A present from Prince Arthur himself.”

“Oh my,” Prisca gasped overdramatically. “Well we must drink it then, shan’t we? Pour our cups, Merlin, dear.”

Merlin quickly tipped the liquid into the two cups he brought with him and handed one to Prisca. 

“Anna you take the other,” Prisca said. Her eyes tracked Merlin as he slowly grabbed the cup and walked it to Anna. He trembled slightly as he held it out. 

“No, m’lady,” Anna said, her gaze on the cup. “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Nonsense!” Prisca cheered. “It’s a celebration. One cup will do you no harm. Honor your prince by accepting his present.”

Anna slowly accepted the cup as if letting a single drop loose would dishonor her prince, kingdom, mother, father, and cows. 

“Merlin, you did not bring a cup for yourself,” Prisca pouted. She practically danced across the room as she scooped the deerskin up and dangled it in front of his face. “Drink from the flask, my love. Honor your prince.”

Merlin grabbed the deerskin from her hand and lifted it into the air. He glared directly into Prisca’s wide eyes as he said, “To Prince Arthur.”

Prisca smirked at him and lifted her cup. “Prince Arthur!”

Anna cheered and said, “Price Arthur,” as she took a hefty sip. She instantly coughed as Merlin had done, though she tried harder to hide her displeasure and forced a hand over her mouth so she would not spit it up on the clean, white sheets. "Oh, my." 

"Another try," Prisca chuckled quietly and watched Anna very carefully as she went back for another small sip. 

This time Anna expected the burn and swallowed a gulp. 

Prisca waited still, her gaze on the girl. When Anna did not fall dead, Prisca shot back a gulp of her own. 

Merlin lifted the deerskin to his mouth and tipped it back so the liquid coated his lips but did not swallow it down. He swept the back of his hand over his mouth and feigned a cough. 

Prisca fanned her face once more. “Strong stuff.”

“It’s whiskey,” Merlin said. 

Prisca’s eyes rounded. “Whiskey?”

Merlin’s tight smile was anything but polite. 

Prisca’s eyes darted to Anna and she swallowed harshly. Her eyes pinched and she grabbed her head. “Why, it has the strangest effect on me.”

Merlin’s smile grew. He leaned in and whispered. “My mother. Is she alright? Do you have anyone watching her?” 

“I-” Prisca shook her head and opened her eyes, intent and serious. She stumbled forward and put her hand on Merlin's shoulder, curling her fingers along his tunic. “I have a need to tell you something.” She stared at her hands as if not believing she was in her own body. “A truth that I must get off my chest.” She pressed against his chest and desperately searched his gaze. “At first when we met, I was underwhelmed. I expected more. But as we have grown to know each other, my affections have grown. I find myself drawn to you in ways I never expected. I cannot go another moment without letting you know. I love you.”

Merlin’s smile fell into a horrified grimace. He took a step back and stumbled into the vanity, nearly knocking the mirror right off it. The pain was not nearly enough to prevent the nausea that ripped through his stomach and threatened to escape through his throat. 

“Do you have nothing to say to me?” Prisca asked, stepping forward, lips quivering. 

“I once pleasured myself with a squash and liked it,” Anna said suddenly. She looked as horrified as Merlin felt at the words that came from her own mouth.

Prisca spun to the girl. She tilted her head and opened her mouth but nothing came out. She nodded once and said, “That is very interesting. Why don’t you go down to the kitchens and see what help they need. I can dress myself.” She snorted, “Try to resist the vegetables if you can.”

Anna fled from the room with a tomato red face. 

“Now then,” Prisca said sharply, dropping her hand from Merlin’s chest and stepping away. “I hope that was not all of it.”

“I kind of hope it was,” Merlin said, staring at the door Anna fled through. 

“Don’t be cute,” Prisca snapped. She narrowed her gaze and curled her lips in distaste. “The love spell you are under festers. It never retreats. It never waivers. Your magic will be no help because it is your magic that caused it. It will forever feed itself as much as it takes it away. It will cycle day after day and year after year until it becomes unbearable. It will kill you. You feel its distance now. You want nothing more than to be at Arthur’s side, watching him sweat and writhe with a man in the mud at the tourney. It pulls you. It distracts you. Distractions for you mean death. You do not want to be dead, do you Emrys?”

Merlin’s heart pounded as if personally threatened. The heat of his magic pulsed quietly at the image of Arthur defeating his foes on the field. He was tempted to look out the window and see for himself. A distraction that would pull his attention from the foe in the room. 

“Then why did you put me under it?!” Merlin snapped.

“It was never meant for Arthur!” Prisca yelped helplessly. She threw her hands in the air and paced the room. “My Gods, Merlin. You are so stupid!”

Merlin swallowed the acid rising in his throat. He timidly asked, “So you do love me then?”

Prisca spun on her heel and grimaced, “No!” She laughed until she snorted. “You have tried to force truth from my lips. I will willingly share some with you now.” She walked towards him with her horns tipped down, like the deer aiming to spear them in the woods. “The love spell dedicates you to a man you were already dedicated to. It was unnecessary but it lingers because it is hard to break and frankly not worth it!”

“Not worth it?!” It was Merlin’s time for hollow laughter. “You said I would die! As in dead!” 

“I said it would distract you!” Prisca yelled back. “As in distract! The only death would be from your own idiocy! You have the attention span of an overzealous goblin!” 

Merlin’s magic was itching to throw her off the ramparts. Instead, he bit his cheek and shook his head, forcing his hands into fists for fear of the magic flying loose. “How do I break it?”

Prisca leaned back and opened her mouth into a delicate oval. She sucked in a loud breath and collected herself. Her haughty smirk returned. She thumped her foot on the floor impatiently and held out her hand. “Where is my truth potion?” She flopped her hand out to her empty cup. “I drank it, Emrys. Did you really think I would help you make it if it worked on me?”

It was surprising. How the crushing weight of it all could slam back in and make Merlin feel like he was drowning above water. Sure, he saved Gwen and at least for the moment Arthur seemed safe, but was he simply saving a few pieces here and there while Pirsca lined up her queen for a checkmate? Merlin was blinded from the board but it was not by love. It was by an evil witch.

“What are you?” Merlin ground out. 

“Impatient.” Prisca flopped into the chair in front of the vanity and started touching up her face with a powder. She spoke to his reflection. “Did you use it all?”

Merlin’s eyes traveled to the deerskin in his hand. The liquid he did not drink sloshed as he trembled with rage. 

“Right then.” Prisca gestured to him in the mirror. “Leave the deerskin. I will make this work.”

Merlin clung the flask near his chest and tilted his head menacingly. “The spell?”

“I will love you with everything. Attach and bind myself to you. No hate can make us part. I willingly give hold of myself to you.”

Merlin’s grimace slowly returned. 

Prisca rolled her eyes. “Those words you said were as good as vows.” She shrugged. “Handfasting. It is the time of year for it.”

Fucking what? Merlin felt the world spin on its head. This had to be another move of hers. Another lie. Another manipulation. Handfasting? There was no way. “We’re married?!”

Saying the words aloud made some treacherous muscles in his chest constrict happily. Made his feet rock up with excitement. Made his lips twitch. 

“No!” Prisca scoffed. She chuckled and lackadaisically waved her hand at him. “You are too funny. We did not complete the rites! By all means you are married. Your soul to Arthur’s.” She chuckled darkly and she undid the wrap around her head and started to brush her hair. “Though he did not return the sentiment so it is a very one sided marriage.”

Merlin stomped forward -with only a small limp- and smacked the deerskin on the table top. He wondered how much trouble he could get her in if he made it seem like her horns knocked over the mirror. They were very expensive and Uther was on a razor’s edge. “How do I undo it?!”

Prisca remained unaffected. She blinked up at him as she untangled the hairs around her horns. “You must break the vows. Given the circumstances, you must first complete the bond and then break it.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “Complete the bond?”

Prisca nodded. “Complete the marriage. Love willingly given.”

“I did not give willingly,” Merlin growled. 

“You did,” Prisca argued. “Your magic was the source. Stronger than any potion.”

Breath left Merlin’s lips but no air would come back in. That was what she meant? By saying the words as opposed to drinking a potion, he willingly put this love upon himself? A love his own will could not control? A marriage he could not break alone? 

“I told you,” Prisca continued calmly, uncaring of the meltdown happening next to her. “You intoned your will. You did this. If you cast a spell or give Arthur a love potion, it will not be true. He must love you willingly. He has no magic to fool his soul.”

Arthur? Love him? Willingly? 

The spinning room grew dark in the corner of Merlin’s vision. 

“Love me how?” Merlin asked, barely above a whisper. 

“These matters are straightforward,” Prisca said. “A kiss will do just fine.”

Merlin blinked rapidly, trying to rid himself of the spots now blocking his vision. He leaned against the vanity and closed his eyes. “Arthur needs to kiss me?”

“Willingly. Yes.”

Merlin shook his head, too lost inside of it. On one hand, the prospect of getting to kiss Arthur had his gut fluttering. On the other, he wanted to vomit. “How do I break the bond once it is completed?”

“Break the vow. Hate cannot make us part? Make hate part you.”

Merlin blinked his eyes open cautiously. “How?”

Prisca’s smile softened. “A kiss.”

Merlin immediately felt himself leaning towards retching. “A kiss?”

“With one you willingly hate.” Prisca gave him the same flirtatious smile and wink as when he walked into the room. 

Vile, evil pig.


	12. Chapter 12

The feast started with mingling and drinks. 

Arthur was late. Gaius said he was talking with Gwen. 

George was in a right tizzy over it. 

Merlin never took his eyes off Prisca. Who was on time, he made sure George knew. 

People bowed to Lady Prisca and complimented her dress. She pretended to be thankful and charming and always made whoever she was speaking with laugh. 

What the hell was wrong with the people of Camelot? Magical beasts nearly destroyed their civilization on a weekly basis. They see one slice the life from her very own probable father and they approach her and her horns with no hesitation. Offering their own necks on the chopping block. As if nothing were wrong. 

Merlin could only roll his eyes. It had to be magic of some kind. A kind he could not instinctively sense beyond the disgusted prickle running down his spine every time he was near Prisca. That woman was full of tricks up her sleeves. Who was to say one was not a hex bag? 

Unfortunately, there was no deerskin with truth revealing whiskey physically up her sleeve. Not from the parts Merlin could see. A truth potion in the right hands was a dangerous thing. In Prisca’s hands, there was no telling the threat. 

Merlin patted the premade antidote in his pocket. Because he was _not thick_ , thank you very much.

Arthur walked into the room. Merlin could feel it as strong as the brightest sun’s rays basking across the skin of his naked back at high noon. Hot and tingling all over his body. Magic pulsed from his chest like a heartbeat, begging him to be near his love. 

Merlin glared at Prisca and blinked hard. He would keep his eyes on his mark. 

George overdid Arthur’s looks more than was necessary. Merlin had seen it on multiple occasions. Sparkly and bold and overdone gorgeousness. Nothing new. 

The swallow that clicked down Merlin’s throat was painfully loud. He grunted and cleared his throat and shifted his feet. He was fine. Everything was fine. 

Arthur laughed at something someone said somewhere across the room. A ridiculously loud and obnoxious laugh befitting a majestic donkey, including a very unprincely snort. 

“Oh hell,” Merlin whispered to himself. 

Yes, George sure did make Arthur sparkle. Golden circlet glowed above shining hair. Pendragon red swept over his chest and flowed with his cape. Gold threads woven into every few lines of fabric shimmered with every step. Like a pretty pretentious princess’ petticoat. 

As if hearing the insult, Arthur’s gaze flashed to him and his eyes crinkled in mirth. 

Merlin’s chest thumped. 

When Arthur grew old, wrinkles from those smiles and laughs would curl around his mouth. Hair would turn silver and curl into the gold of his crown. A robe would sweep behind his feet. Maybe hiding a child. An heir. He would pick his child up and throw him on his hip and let Merlin say hello. Light hair and dark eyes. Then Gwen would walk up and take Arthur’s arm.

Merlin closed his eyes. His chest clenched painfully. 

How the hell was he supposed to get Arthur to willingly kiss him? He could not very well explain this one away any more than he could a hole in the armory wall. Telling Arthur they were half-husbands would be enough to get him banished due to insanity. 

Sometimes knights would get rowdy and do such things with one another for a laugh. On a dare. Perhaps if Merlin made it a laugh at his expense? 

_Hey knights! On our next hunting trip I have an idea! Let’s find out who the best kisser is! By the way, Prisca wanted to come. No, she’s not going to be wearing her headband. Why yes, we could mistake her for a deer. What a shame that would be._

When Merlin opened his eyes, Morgana stood next to Arthur. She wore _another_ red dress. Entirely too low cut to be appropriate. The flowers woven in around the cleavage did nothing to hide the way her bosom heaved. Her hand was on Arthur’s shoulder, brushing down his chest. She smiled at the people in front of them and tilted her head against his shoulder. 

What _the hell._

Arthur looked properly confused. 

“You have to admit,” Prisca suddenly whispered into his ear, “They make an adorable royal couple. You’re not jealous, are you?”

Merlin had about a thousand curses on the tip of his tongue -both spells and a list of less than friendly places she could shove her opinions on royal couples- when Uther walked into the room. 

People parted quickly, heads down while they took a step back. 

Uther strode through with lips pursed in an almost smile. Uther was capable of celebration after all. Beltane deserved his version of a smile. Despite the patricide by horned beast marring his chauvinistic display of men slapping each other around for the fun of it. 

When Uther came upon them, Merlin bowed and Prisca dipped her head gingerly, careful not to hit the king with her horns. 

“Lady Prisca,” Uther greeted. “I wanted to thank you personally for saving my son’s life.”

Uther looked as though he wanted to do anything but that. 

Prisca lifted her gaze and fluttered her fingers over her chin. Her father’s sigil sat on the outside of the wrap around her neck. She ran her fingers over the silver of the deer’s horns. “It was my honour, Your Majesty.”

In the fight for honor she took the victory. Merlin’s stomach flipped. 

Uther’s glare somehow turned palpably colder. “It is a shame you are leaving us before Gaius could solve your-” he frowned at her head and said cooly, “Aliment.”

“A shame indeed, Your Lordship.” Prisca smiled softly and gestured to the hall. “Your hospitality has been most welcome. Especially the warmth of the children of your house. I hope my house can be a friend to Camelot.” She looked in emphasis at Arthur and Morgana. “In future.”

Uther nodded shortly, disregarding the insult almost instantly as he walked away. Which was a shame. Just when Merlin needed him to be an impulsive, heartless, tyrant of a king, Uther went and took the high road. 

Arthur escorted Morgana to her chair and seated her before taking his own. 

Merlin shoved George out of the way to push Arthur’s chair forward, never taking his eyes off his cup. “Do you want to tell me why Morgana is touching you?” 

There was no chance that sounded as possessive out loud as it did in Merlin’s head. 

Arthur looked at Morgana and up at Merlin. His smile was forced but his eyes crinkled from confusion. An adorably infuriating wrinkle appeared in his brow as he grimaced. “She just tried to tell me I lost to Harold because of her dress. I tell you, Merlin, if I knew the mind of women I would be revered for my wisdom.”

“You’re right,” Merlin huffed, “No one reveres you for your wisdom.”

Arthur glared at Merlin in a way that threatened cleaning out the stables for a week if he decided to say anything more. A glare that made Merlin’s knees shake. His bad leg pinched and that was enough to stop him from continually staring into Arthur’s eyes. 

George pushed Prisca in, making sure to glare at Merlin as he did so. That glare thankfully did nothing for Merlin but make sure his cock stayed flaccid. Thank you George. 

Uther toasted those that gathered and beckoned everyone to join in. “To another year of fruitful crops and strong children. To my son Arthur and my ward Morgana, who has always felt like a daughter to me.”

The crowd echoed his sentiment with a “Here, here,” and all took a sip. 

Merlin scanned the crowd but no one showed any signs of poison or magic. People ate. No one screamed anything about their eternal love of another or the seductive nature of squash. 

Uther opened his mouth once more. 

The crowd went silent. 

“I have something else I feel I need to say,” Uther said. He stared down at himself, as if unsure about his very own words. As if his hands did not belong to his very own body. 

Merlin’s eyes widened and he whipped his body to Prisca.

There was darkness in Prisca’s eyes. An empty void fixated on Uther’s lips. A satisfied smirk stretching her face wide. An eagerness in the tapping of her fingers against her goblet. 

How? Prisca had never gone near the king’s cups! She had two guards! How could this be possible? 

“Morgana has always felt like a daughter to me-” Uther said.

It was too public. There was no magic Merlin could do. Falling headfirst into the king would have his head rolling through the streets. What else could he do?

“My Lord!” Gaius was the one to jump upright in hopes of distracting.

Too late.

“Because she is my daughter,” Uther finished. 

The room erupted into chaotic chatter. 

Morgana looked horrified. 

Arthur tilted his head, as if waiting for the punchline. 

Prisca licked her lips as she took a sip of her drink. 

Merlin… well he just nodded to himself, stole Arthur’s cup, and swallowed the entire goblet of wine in three gulps. 

“I don’t know why I said that,” Uther admitted to himself aloud, just barely audible over the chaos. He spared Morgana a look of panic and then fled the room. 

Merlin spared no time in running to Gaius. 

“I don’t know what's come over him,” Gaius muttered aloud. He looked at the empty throne in abject horror. 

“I do,” Merlin said gruffly. He pulled the antidote from his pocket and thrust it at Gaius. “A truth potion. The antidote is here.”

“A truth potion?” Gaius hissed, looking around to make sure know one heard. “Are you sure? How do you know? Why do you have this?”

Merlin chewed the side of his cheek. Tears threatened to burn his eyes. He wanted to tell Gaius. He truly, really, desperately did. In a way that made him feel sick to his stomach. But Gaius was already too close. Merlin had already asked him about love spells and revealing potions. Gaius already knew he was up to something. He was already in danger because of Merlin. Merlin could not put him in any more. 

“I would tell you more but I can’t,” Merlin whispered. He begged Gaius to understand with wide eyes and a rueful smile. “I have to go.”

“Merlin-” Gaius called. 

Prisca licked her fingers clean as she happily skipped to Morgana’s chair. 

Morgana’s face was as pale as snow. 

Prisca lifted Morgana from her seat and walked her out, arm in arm. 

Arthur’s gaze flickered between the empty seat of his father and his sister. 

Merlin ran.

~~＼(º □ º l|l)/~~

Gwen sat upright at the table. There was color in her cheeks and food half eaten in front of her. Loretta sat with her. Someone from the kitchens must have brought them their meals. Someone with a big mouth. 

“Morgana is Uther’s daughter?” Gwen asked without preamble. Good to see the glee of gossip could light up her face with color. 

“I heard Uther has tried to visit but she refuses to see him,” Loretta added, equally excited. 

“Princess Morgana,” Merlin stated blankly. He shook his head and went into his room and closed the door.

“It has a ring to it,” came Gwen’s muffled laugh.

There was a time when Merlin had the time to gossip with them. To talk about what such a thing would mean for the castle. Make fun of the faces the nobles pulled. Inquire into the wellbeing of his friend, Princess Morgana. If she still was his friend. 

Time was running out. Whatever gates Prisca was talking about? Prisca needed to cross them and get the hell out of his life for good. Closed or not. If her father was no longer going to make her leave, Merlin would. 

Merlin dug under his bed for his dagger. The one Arthur thrust at him after one close call too many. The one he made sure Merlin kept under his bed by appearing before sunrise one morning and nearly scaring the life out of Merlin while in the middle of a dream. The one that showed Arthur cared about Merlin staying alive. Nothing more, Merlin told himself and the spell beating in his chest. Nothing more. 

The blade was small but sturdy and sparkled in the light. Desperation made his fingers tremble around its hilt. He clumsily shoved it into his boot and fell into his hands, rubbing his face with both sweaty palms. He would only have one shot at this. He had to get to Prisca. 

Arthur’s room was warm. 

No. Merlin had not expected to find Prisca in Arthur’s room. But it was proactive to check. Wasn’t it? 

Arthur was far into his cups, slumped in front of a roaring fire. One jug of ale sat mostly empty next to him. Another jug was full in front of him.

“Merlin!” Arthur slurred at the sight of him. “Celebrate! Life, love, and passion!” He tossed his head back and laughed at the words echoed throughout the holiday. An empty, hollow laugh that he swallowed down with more ale. 

“You’ve done enough celebrating on your own, have you?” Merlin grimaced. 

It would be such a waste of time to sit and pretend to celebrate together. If Merlin could not do it for Gwen, he definitely could not do it for Arthur. Prisca needed to be dealt with. The sudden sibling dilemma would not go anywhere anytime soon. They could deal with the fallout after Prisca was gone. 

Merlin sat on the rug beside him. 

Arthur’s eyes were glossy and his cheeks were red. Definitely only a short ways away from drunk. 

“Well,” Arthur shrugged, “I have a sister now. A princess in our court!” He toasted the flames and took a swig. There was a long silence. 

The heat of the fire was nearly unbearable. The light was strong and unforgiving. Arthur stared into his cup and rolled it between his hands. Back and forth. Hypnotizing himself into believing the answers to his problems sank to the bottom of the jug of ale. 

Merlin lifted a hand to place on Arthur’s shoulder but dropped it to the furry rug instead. He wound his hand in the white furs. A weight seemed to pull at every muscle in his body. The type of fatigue felt after a grueling day of work and sprinting around to defeat a horrible beast only to catch a few hours of sleep and do it again. 

It was all terribly unfair. Every bit of this life. 

Uther showed, yet again, that ignoring the responsibilities of choices from the past can have consequences! Whether that be a daughter with newly discovered magic learning she had been lied to every day of her life or a magical genocide in the name of a spell cast with his awareness to bring her a sibling. Was it because Uther needed a male heir to make sure Morgana could never take the throne for the shame of his adultery? How far did Uther’s crimes go? 

Arthur somehow had to burden those responsibilities now. 

Merlin too, for some reason he had yet to understand. 

Maybe there was a marriage here. A marriage of destinies. Intertwined with the same purpose. To clean up Uther’s messes. 

“Father said it was Morgana’s mother,” Arthur said suddenly. His voice was full of false bravado as he mocked his father. “A seductive temptress who used her womanly ways to will him into bed.” He scoffed without humour. “Do you know he said it might have been an enchantment?” He shook his head excessively back and forth, his anger slipping through the creases in his brow. “They fell together when Gorlois was in battle at the north. If it were magic why would-” Arthur stopped himself before he could say more. 

Merlin wanted him to say more. He stared at those lips, full and pouting, and willed Arthur to say more. To let it all go. Arthur did not need to hold his tongue. Not with Merlin. Especially if he was going to refute something his father said about magic. That was a form of dirty talk Merlin never thought he would acknowledge. Heat pooled low in his gut at just the thought of it. His gaze flickered to the chair he spotted Arthur touching himself in. He wound his fingers in the fur rug and pulled. 

Arthur pointed around his cup and wobbled his finger at Merlin, eyes squinting with his threat, “You did not hear me say that.”

“Of course not.” Merlin smiled briefly. The wobbly masculine showmanship was truly something to remember. For he would be mocking Arthur relentlessly about it in the future. “I don’t really see the harm in it. You’ll still be king. She will just be-”

Arthur rolled his eyes and his head. His drunken body nearly pulled him all the way to the floor. He slapped a palm along the ground to stop himself. “She will be insufferable.” He hiccuped and swigged another gulp of alcohol down. “There will be a fight for her hand. Father will make me win it.”

Merlin forgot how to breathe. The image of Arthur, smiling with a child in his arms and Gwen at his side, morphed to include Morgana instead. 

A child with raven hair and blue eyes. 

A child with magic. 

A child like him. 

“For her hand?” Merlin gasped. Then, the truth of it really sunk in. “But she’s your sister!”

“Half-sister,” Arthur corrected unhappily. He poured himself more ale, sloshing some down to the ground and over his leg. “We are the last of the Pendragon blood. My father will trust no one else to her. He will fear the mockery of her bastardized birth.” He downed the entire glass in one swallow. “It’s the way things are done, Merlin.”

“But-” Merlin’s mouth was still hanging open. “Gwen-”

Arthur poured another glass and held it out to Merlin without looking at him. 

Merlin shook his head. 

“Thank you for saving Gwen,” Arthur said meaningfully. He pulled the cup back to himself and clutched it to his chest. He stared into the fire. “If there is anything I can do to repay you, please just say the word.”

Was that why Morgana had been clutching at Arthur like a lovestruck harpy? No. She seemed shocked along with the entire court. That first day with Prisca when they watched the knights train she was disgusted at the thought of being with Arthur. Prisca was the one to present the idea.After she said she would not hesitate to win his affections as a lady of sovereignty. She was a lady of sovereignty. Why did she not say? Did that mean she was after Arthur’s hand? But then why would she comment on Arthur and Morgana being a cute royal couple?!

Prisca had Morgana’s ear. What if she was pushing her to court Arthur because of this? Prisca could not have known about Morgana’s bastardized brith. There was no way. Unless she was a mind reader. Merlin supposed that could be a possibility in magical creatures. 

No matter what, Prisca knew spiking Uther’s drink would lead to some sort of scandal. Something that would shake Camelot to its very core. But why? She had saved Arthur. She very well could have poisoned Uther but chose to dose him with truth potion instead. She befriended Morgana. She made no move to woo Arthur. The opposite. She had made herself unavailable by attaching herself to Merlin. 

Merlin had been protecting Arthur for years. Why did he not know any of the answers? How was she outwitting him so well? Was the love spell really that bad? Prisca said it was barely worth removing. If the love spell never happened, would Merlin have stopped her already? Would he be here? Sitting next to Arthur. Staring at his profile as he stared at the finger that would soon hold a wedding band.

Watching Arthur with Gwen had been hard enough but at least Gwen made him happy. The possibility Arthur may marry Morgana was unbearable. Morgana was a good, cunning, beautiful woman who would make a fine queen. Merlin would remind himself of that every day. If the spell made him jealous that was his business. She was not actually a harpy. She was kind and good. But she did not make Arthur happy. Not like Gwen could. The opposite, one could argue. 

Not to mention, Morgana, a magic user, on the throne? Uther would never allow it. If Uther ever found out, her only options were imprisonment or death. Arthur would never be betrothed to a prisoner. Her fear of death must be magnified tenfold now. 

On the other hand, a magic user on the throne would solve quite a bit of Merlin’s problems. Assuming Uther was dead and Arthur was… Was what? Alright with it? Would Morgana tell him? What would Arthur do? Banishment? Would that be Morgana’s fate? 

With Merlin, well, Merlin as sure Arthur would have to do something. Maybe not kill him. No, he was quite certain he would not kill him. 

Unless that was the love spell talking. 

There were too many crises to handle all at once. Merlin was sure there was a way to solve them all. First he had to stop coming to Arthur’s chambers with fools errands. Of course he wanted to sidle up to Arthur, put his arm around him, and tell him everything would be alright. That they could solve this. Together. That was not for him to do. It was not his place. This was not his role and his destiny and his heart and his magic were going to have to accept that because he had. He knew this could never be. He knew it. 

The anticipation of heartbreak and the nervousness of anticipation were warring with Merlin’s middle. Arthur offered him a reward for saving Gwen. It was time to test that offer. 

“I have a request,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur finally gave in to the pull of gravity. He slumped down to his elbow and kicked out his legs. He groaned as his joints popped and flopped a hand at Merlin. “Get on with it then.”

The shadows of the flames danced along Arthur’s torso. Merlin momentarily wondered what Arthur would look like with the high noon sun rays dancing across his naked back. Sweat glistening from training. Hair tousled from his helmet. Smile on his face as he jumped into the river and invited Merlin to join. 

Merlin shook himself from his thoughts. “It’s a very strange request.”

“From you, Merlin,” Arthur smirked up at him. Careless and perfect. “I would expect nothing less.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose and slumped to the floor on his stomach with an _oof_. His leg smarted as he stretched out. His blade bumped against his ankle bone. 

“Your leg?” Arthur asked, nodding with his head. 

Merlin pinched his eyes shut. His heart fluttered. It was a coincidence that Arthur asked about his leg. That he was the only one to see it. Coincidence. Not a declaration of undying affection. Arthur would rather swallow a pinecone than admit something like that about Merlin. 

“Your concern has my heart all aflutter, Sire,” Merlin mocked. Truly, it was mocking himself at this point. 

“I care about the wellbeing of all my- my property.” Arthur tried to be as haughty and noble and arrogant as he could but the drink was ruining his effect. 

Merlin scoffed anyway. “Property?!” 

Arthur giggled into his shoulder. A delightful burst of sound. “Go on,” he said, muffled by the fabric of his tunic. “What did you do? Slip into a rosebush while picking flowers?” 

Merlin turned his face away and carefully inspected the dust on the mantelpiece. Whoever cleaned this room really needed to do a better job. 

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur laughed. 

“Oh, I can’t speak, Sire,” Merlin struggled to hold back a smile. “I’m property, you see. Property is not allowed to talk.” 

“No,” Arthur said slowly. “Property is not allowed to talk back. Which you are rubbish at.”

“Or maybe I’m very good at it,” Merlin smirked. 

“I swear.” Arthur shook his head back and forth, smiling fully. “You are so…”

Merlin waited but Arthur did not speak on. He instantly forgot he was given the silent treatment and let his smile break free. One so big and bright it hurt his temples with the strength of it. “So what?” 

Arthur lolled his face to the side and stared at Merlin. His eye crinkled as he studied Merlin’s face. Probably picking apart ways to make fun of him. Not at all lingering on his mouth. The spell only wanted that to be the case. 

“Go on,” Arthur said, ignoring the end of his sentence completely. “Where are the flowers? Were they for Prisca?” His smile fell into a devilish curl. “Or was it from her horns? Did she slip a bit south of the border?” 

Merlin’s smile instantly morphed into absolute revulsion. “No! I fell on an arrow!” 

Arthur’s face went completely flabbergasted. Once again a prattish knight scoffing at Merlin’s clumsiness. “An arrow? Not an arrow that missed its mark? You actually fell _on_ an arrow?” 

“You’re one to talk about falling,” Merlin yelled right back. “You nearly got yourself killed lazing about in the mud. Are you going to admit you tripped or was it really because of Morgana’s dress?” 

Merlin grimaced the minute the tease left his lips. He was so used to making fun of Arthur that the words slipped out without him thinking. Morgana was no longer someone he could joke about like that. Wife to be and all. Ew. 

“I swear to-” Arthur huffed and glared at Merlin from atop his palm. “If you are going to request another one of Morgana’s dresses you’re going to have to ask her. I won’t be ready to face any member of my family for another fortnight at the earliest.” 

Merlin gasped dramatically. “I never requested a dress in the first place!”

“That’s right,” Arthur groaned and flipped to his stomach as well. “You stole it! Looking to show off those bony shoulders?” 

Merlin refused to acknowledge his blush. “My shoulders are much more dashing than those beefy things.” He stabbed his fingers in Arthur’s direction. “I would make plenty of knights lose their tournaments. You wouldn’t even be able to fit your arms in a dress!” 

Arthur laughed jovally. “Are you trying to insult me by complimenting my muscles and accusing me of not fitting into a corset?”

“I am not complimenting anything!” He really was. 

Arthur shook his head. “No, what you are doing is avoiding your request.” 

Merlin slapped his beefy bicep. 

Silence fell heavy between them. 

Arthur’s face was soft with laughter. A small pinch in his eyes meant he was actually starting to get concerned. His head tilted with a gentleness that very few people were privileged to see. 

Merlin’s heart thumped loudly. His chest squeezed painfully. It was hard to tell what was magic and what was him. To kiss those spit-slicked lips should be revolting. Yet, this time, so close to the heat of a fire and with no one else around, lost in a bit of smooth and easy banter, it seemed a little more plausible. The dream of rough stubble and warm mouths was inches away. It would probably end in the same heartbreak as his dream but it would be done. 

Merlin stared at Arthur’s mouth. He cleared his throat and his voice came out soft. “It’s really, really, really strange. You are not going to like it.”

Arthur slapped the ground and sloppily held his head up. “Then you had better tell me quickly.”

Merlin licked his lips. “It’s actually rather difficult to ask.”

“Spit it out, man!”

Merlin’s mouth hung open. Noises left his throat but it was impossible to form them into words. He pinched his brow down and squeezed his mouth shut. 

Arthur’s finger jabbed into his cheek. Hot and blunt and rougher than probably intended. “ _Mer_ lin. I told you to say the words but you’re not saying anything.” 

Merlin smiled at the slur in Arthur’s voice and slapped Arthur’s hand away from his cheek. Merlin’s hand fell on Arthur’s wrist and he left his hand there. A soft cool weight on top of Arthur’s warmth. He watched the pads of his fingers move with the beat of Arthur’s pulse. 

“Arthur, it’s-” He sighed and traced the red and gold fabric of Arthur’s tunic. Wherever he touched, gold glittered. It tickled the pads of his fingers as he gently roamed the valleys between veins. Very distracting indeed. “It’s hard to ask because- well- because it’s kind of important.” 

Arthur sucked in a breath and tilted his head back on his other hand, allowing Merlin to continue his touches. His eyes closed as Merlin’s fingers tickled his palm. “You say that a lot, you know?”

Merlin held his breath as if the air itself could take this moment away from him forever. His head buzzed pleasantly as he traced out every pressure point on Arthur’s hand and wrist. _He’s letting me touch him_. 

“Huh?” Merlin asked when he realized it had been silent too long. Silence had the ability to steal the moment too. 

“That things are important.” Arthur shrugged and mocked Merlin lazily, “Please listen, Arthur, this is important. I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important. Come on, Sire, this is important.” 

Merlin stopped the movements of his fingers and swallowed the bile that threatened to suffocate him any time Arthur even hinted at coming close to discussing magic with him. Whether he knew it or not. 

“You know what I find, Merlin?” Arthur asked rhetorically. “That you’re right.” 

Merlin let out the breath he had been holding. Shaky and weak.

Arthur held up some fingers to stop Merlin from interrupting. “Not about most things but you are right about important things being important. If this is important, you should speak.” 

Merlin’s gut filled with a sort of pride that warmed every inch of him. His hand fell back across Arthur’s wrist and that pride was immediately followed by a rush of shame. He snatched his hand back. 

Arthur was his friend. This was wrong. 

“I can’t,” Merlin rushed to say. “I have to. It’s just that-” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Well this _is_ important. But not _important_. But it is. It’s important to- to- But I can’t explain why and I- I can’t ask it of you. It’s too much. I would wait but it can’t and I can’t but I have to-” 

“But it is important,” Arthur interrupted, frowning. “To you?” 

How bad would it really be if the spell lingered on? It was not all bad. Swooping butterflies and dizzy excitement. Maybe he could wait until Arthur was ready to be married off. When the pain grew too much to bear. Maybe then.

Maybe Prisca was right. Maybe the distraction would make Merlin sloppy. Maybe it would cost Merlin his life. Worse, maybe it would cost Arthur’s life. 

Merlin nodded mutely. His heart ached dully. 

“Well,” Arthur smiled and opened his hands in invitation. “Come on then. How horrible could it be?” He slapped Merlin’s shoulder. 

The slap loosened Merlin’s tongue. It came out in a rush, “I need you to kiss me.”

The world froze. 

Time crushed down between them. 

Nervous anticipation plodded around the room. Heavy and somber. 

Arthur’s arms disappeared, sucked back to his own body. 

Merlin curled in on himself, willing the ground to swallow him. He would gladly hide in the dirt for centuries if it meant living this one down. There was no taking it back. It was out there, in the air. Vocalized for Arthur to hear. The easy banter, the friendship they built was all thrown down across the stone tiles now. Arthur would sober and find the shards of what they once were. Destroyed because of a desire violating Merlin’s soul. An evil twisting his very own magic against him. 

“What?” Arthur muttered.

“You to kiss me. Yeah.” Merlin cringed. He closed his eyes and willed his face to stop blushing. This was a time of mourning and not of waifish embarrassment. 

“Well that is a strange request,” Arthur said. He pulled his drink close and took a steady swallow. He was taking it surprisingly well. He was not yelling or threatening to throw Merlin from the ramparts. 

Merlin tried to speak again, “Nothing too….” 

The silence was palpable. Tense and painful. Another sentence left unfinished and heavy with meaning. The terrible charged suspense before battle broke. 

Merlin forced himself to look up. 

Arthur looked at him. His gaze was heavy with drink. There were muscles in his face twitching, trying to keep him impassive and stone faced. The ale made them fail. His eyes danced down to Merlin’s lips. 

Merlin’s entire body flashed with heat. Something yanked at his core and he dropped his gaze to the fur rug. Sweat trickled down his neck and stuck to the fabric embracing his neck. 

“Why?” Arthur asked simply, refusing to give away any emotion. 

Merlin could face Nimueh and the Great Dragon all over again and he would tremble less. 

“I- I can’t-” Merlin cleared his throat. “It’s just I- I need-”

“If you have need, why don’t you seek Prisca?” Arthur asked in what was probably meant to be a teasing, prattish tone. It missed the mark. Something much more aggressive and angry. 

Merlin knew he should have come up with a better plan. Hell, the hunting trip _was_ a better plan. He would blame the love spell for this folly. It wanted his lips on Arthur as soon as possible. It must be the spell. It was a part of him, pulsing so deep inside that he could barely distinguish its heat anymore. 

“Unless you haven’t-” Arthur raised his eyebrow. 

Merlin’s face pinched down in disgust. “No. Absolutely not.” 

Arthur’s mouth fell into a perfect circle. His tongue darted out to lick the comprehension from his lips. 

Merlin really and truly wanted to hope it was because he finally understood Merlin _hated_ Prisca and it was for good reason and Arthur should ask about it, but Merlin was much more realistic than that. 

“Have you never...?” Arthur asked without finishing the question. 

Merlin slapped his hands to his temple and pulled at his hair. The fur of the rug tickled his nose and he buried his head. 

The charge was suddenly gone. Zapped from the room as they shifted into old patterns. 

Arthur’s laugh was brutish and not at all charming. “You’ve never kissed anyone?!” 

Merlin groaned into his forearms, “I have too!” 

Arthur’s laughter suddenly died. 

Merlin wanted to hit himself. Something as innocent as needing a first kiss or as imbecilic as kissing lessons could count as valid excuses. He was not about to throw this opportunity away. He made sure to dramatize his suffering. “I have kissed someone but I haven’t done anything more than that.” 

Arthur hummed. “If you want advice, all you need is ask.” 

_A demonstration off the table then?_ Merlin almost teased but this was not the time for it. 

“That’s not-” Either the rug or himself were going to go bald with his pulling. Sometimes, with Arthur, One needed to be blunt. “I need you to kiss me.” 

Silence fell again. It felt less like going to war and more like the impending doom of a cataclysmic rejection. The kind that shoved you off a cliff and straight into icy black water. 

“Who put you up to this?” Arthur asked calmly. 

“I- No one.” Merlin looked at the fire. Anywhere but at Arthur. “I can’t say.”

“Ah,” Arthur nodded slowly. “Kay had a girl once.”

Merlin frowned. Sir Kay. That was not where he expected this to go. He still could not make himself look up. 

“Kay,” Arthur continued, “Told us she liked the idea of him-” He flapped his hand and smashed his face. “You know. With the other knights.”

Merlin’s face did not know what to do. “Oh?”

“You could just tell her we- you know -and let the lie live,” Arthur said around another swallow. 

The crushing sensation of rejection slammed straight through Merlin’s throat and down his spine all the way into his aching leg. A dare. Some sexual fantasy requested by a lover. Of course that was what Arthur concluded. Someone had to make Merlin kiss Arthur. That was what he thought. And it was terrible because it was true. But it was all Merlin wanted to do. 

“She leaves tomorrow,” Arthur continued, “You would not need to lie for long. Though, now this with Morgana. Her patricide will be instantly forgotten amongst the gossip. Morgana will need a woman’s support and Gwen is still ill. I may be able to sway father for a few more nights. He may let her discretion go altogether to get Morgana to talk to him again.”

Merlin feared he would turn the fire to ice with his stare. Magic pulsed inside of him, daring to make itself known. Prisca found a way to stay after all. 

“Is that why you’re not with her?” Arthur pulled him out of his self-pitying contemplation.

Merlin’s teeth ground together. Painful and loud. “You would not believe what she makes me do.”

Arthur chuckled sharply and slapped the ground. “Spoke like a blushing virgin.”

A blushing virgin. Another truth. If only Arthur knew the reason for his blush. It was not any impish insecurity. Sex was just a bit of writihing between bodies, after all. It was due to the overwhelming and confident desire that consumed his waking and dreaming self. To be close. To touch. 

Merlin’s heated glare had nothing to do with impudence. His eyes followed the curve of the fur that twined up Arthur’s elbows. He followed the path of glowing golden skin up the hair that curled up his arms and to the wrist he had been groping. Desperate for just a touch of skin on skin. He followed the fingers up to Arthur’s cheek. Dimpled with the weight he put on his arm to keep him up. Long blonde hair tickling his nails. Crystal clear blue eyes staring directly at him with undeniable lucidity. 

The insults to balance out the heat that pulled an undulation of his hips into the ground beneath him were missing entirely. He tried, he really tried. Searching Arthur’s impossibly lovely freckled face only made it worse. 

Arthur’s dimples dropped and his head cocked to the side. 

The rush of being caught out made Merlin’s mouth go dry. Panicked adrenaline filled heartbeats left him gasping for air. He licked the roof of his mouth. “Are you going to kiss me or not?”

Arthur’s face flushed red in the glow of the fire. Big bold dark eyes blinked suddenly. He cleared his throat in order to speak. “As a fellow man, if it will get a woman off your back, I suppose I have little choice.” He lifted his cup. “In celebration of the holiday then.” He drank the entire cup in one go. The liquid splashed over the sides of his lips and down his jaw. He chuckled as he swiped at his mouth. 

Life did not feel real. It was as if Merlin had no control over his own body. It was pulled taught, ready to burst, but he could not pull the trigger to let the arrow fly. This moment was too surreal for his mind to understand what he should do. 

“Come here then, you idiot.” Arthur grabbed Merlin's jaw. 

Hot lips crashed against Merlin’s mouth before he could so much as hum. Merlin’s heart soared in his chest. Everything in him flushed hot and cold. The ground seemed to disappear altogether. 

It was over so fast. 

Arthur pulled back. 

Nothing happened. No magic or sudden fires or glowing lights. Nothing. 

Inches away, Arthur stayed. His fingers still squeezed Merlin’s jaw. Curled around bone and pressing against stubble. His hold slowly released. Fingers slipped down Merlin’s chin until gentle points of pressure rested over his throat and on his cheek. The barely there touch of fingertips tickled. Merlin could feel the thump of his heart move Arthur’s fingers. 

Everything tingled. 

Merlin licked his lips. The faint taste of ale warmed his tongue. His gaze fixated on the sheen of liquid on Arthur’s lips. The way his mouth fell open just the smallest amount. 

Loose and pliant. 

Merlin felt drunk himself. He slowly and gently, as if petting a timid dog, leaned just the slightest bit against Arthur’s touch. Fingers splayed over the side of his cheek and tickled up against his hair. 

Arthur’s chin lifted. His fingers curled and caught against Merlin’s ear, brushing his lobe like the lick of hot summer air. Loud and demanding. 

Merlin’s entire body quaked. He gasped in the shortest breath. 

Arthur’s lips trembled. Reaching for something. Words or sounds or flesh.

Overwhelming fear made Merlin shiver. The kind that made every move feel like he was pressing through mud to approach the chopping block. His jaw ached as he tilted it up. His lips pressed as far as they dare. His nose brushed alongside Arthur’s. Sacrificing all he could to Arthur’s mercy. 

Arthur’s lips crashed against his. 

Hot, wet, and open. 

Merlin latched onto him with a force he feared would bruise them both. 

Arthur matched that vigor. 

They collided. Pops, moans, and savage grunts tumbled between their mouths. Stubble scratched, nails bit into skin, and fingers clenched painfully tight into flesh and fur. Their eyes were shut painfully tight. Muscles aching to keep up. Teeth clacked. Lips pulled. 

Tears floated behind Merlin’s lids. With a gasp and a whimper he let go of his hold on the rug to hold his hand in the air as he hovered over Arthur’s cheek. His hand twitched, clenched and unclenched. 

Merlin sucked in a sob through his nose. 

Arthur whined against his mouth. 

The vibrations tore straight through Merlin’s middle. He thrust his hand into Arthur’s hair, wound his fingers through waves of golden locks, and helplessly grasped it in his fists. As if he could hold them there in that moment forever if he just held on hard enough. Pressure. An insisting power that compelled them to hold their breath for as long as possible. To squeeze every ounce of light from the twinkling ember that was their moment in time. 

Merlin’s lungs strained. He licked over Arthur’s lip. A tear rippled over his cheek and fell against Arthur’s cupped palm. 

Arthur pulled back. 

Merlin gasped in breath. 

They both panted. Gasped. Their faces were both wet with split and tears and sweat. Red and gold and yellow and pink in the unforgiving light. 

They blinked. 

Arthur was first to force a smile. He slapped Merlin’s cheek roughly and pulled his body back up, swiftly shoving himself to sit and bend over his knees, kneeling towards the flames. He quickly swiped at his forehead with the hem on his shirt. 

Merlin saw him swipe his eyes. 

“Back to your girl then, Merlin,” Arthur said. His voice was raspy. His smile broken. “Let her know you have completed your quest.”

Merlin’s throat clicked as he swallowed.

The rug did little for him. The ground was suddenly the hardest and coldest thing he had ever laid upon. His leg ached terribly and he was certain the blade in his boot pressed against his skin. 

The fire looked normal. Arthur was not passing out. There was no glowing. No magic. Nothing but the feeling of confusion. 

Arthur kissed him. 

No. He did not simply kiss him. 

They kissed with the desperate yearning of a long lost love. They trembled. They wept. They moved in a way that desperately begged for more. For a closeness that could never be achievable. To be a part of each other. An intense agonizing pull that tore open Merlin’s very soul. 

The love spell was there. Of course it was there. He could feel it swimming about. But it was not what made him feel as though his heart had exploded out of his chest. As though he could not contain the tears that fell from his eyes with the relief and loss. As if he had been running for years and only finally got the chance to rest to lose it in a matter of seconds. 

There was no love spell on Arthur. But Arthur looked the same wreck as he felt. Why did Arthur look as though his heart had just been broken? 

Merlin’s fingers writhed in the furs beneath him. Damp. They inched their way towards Arthur. Slowly. Merlin had to force them into submission. 

Arthur remained unmoved by the fire but his body was pulsing. A shake that could only be seen by those looking for it. 

Merlin panted, “I wish-” 

Arthur’s face crumpled. Painful vulnerability that threatened to expose the tears swimming behind his closed lids. 

There could be only wishing. As Arthur said, it was the way things were done. There was no point in wishing. 

Merlin forced his own broken smile. It was as weak as he felt. “I wish you would stop calling her my girl.”

Arthur’s lips twitched up in a tight lip smile that immediately fell when it jostled more tears loose.

“I have no girl,” Merin whispered earnestly to Arthur’s thigh. 

Arthur shoved his palms down his face and shakily refilled his cup with ale. He gulped down the entire cup before pouring another. 

Drenched in sweat and gagging for the relief of a cup of his own, Merlin shook his head. “I do have a quest though!” The false joy echoed off the stone walls and hit him straight in the chest. “To go to bed so I can deal with you in the morning. And your hangover, seeing as how your quest is to drink your weight tonight.”

Arthur shook his head silently and took another gulp. He would still not look at Merlin. 

Merlin pushed himself off the ground and slowly backed towards the door, never taking his eyes off Arthur. Arthur was perfect and golden and warm. Sitting absolutely still with the fire dancing in front of him. It was like a painting. 

Merlin felt more tears prickle behind his eyes. He watched as long as he dared. “Arthur,” he whispered. 

Arthur looked at the empty jug on the floor. They had knocked it over at some point. The rug was missing some fur, ripped out and on the stones now. Arthur’s cape was bunched against the fireplace, kicked against a precariously placed pulley. 

Merlin forced his gaze up to the ceiling and blinked the tears away. “There have been many truths revealed tonight. Some I will-” he cleared his throat and twined his hands, “-remember to forget. I-” he cleared his throat again, “I am dedicated to this house.” He swallowed a shaky breath. His words felt dangerous. “I am devoted to you. Arthur. Everything that is me, I give to you. Willingly.” For the sake of prudence, Merlin added a barely audible, “Sire.”

Arthur’s fingers twitched off the cup, as if reaching out for something. The rest of him was stone. 

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin said. He gently peeled the door open and spun to slip it shut. He caught one last look at his painting. 

“G’night,” Arthur’s whisper barely made it to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for disappearing. I won’t leave a long note about the why. Just a short one that says that this fandom has done so much to keep me alive. In so many different ways. Every kind word from you breaks me in the most beautiful way. Thank you for all of them.


	13. Chapter 13

The air outside Arthur’s room was cold and biting but the heat from the bonfire looked inviting. Merlin could see the guards normally stationed outside Morgana’s door celebrating and gossiping with the peasant folk. Apparently a scandal was a good enough excuse to take the night off. More likely, Morgana had used her newly found royal status as Princess Morgana Pendragon to send them away. 

No doubt Morgana was scared of what her magic would do in her state. When upset it caused fire. Finding out Uther was her biological father was a shock worthy of causing the entire citadel to explode like chef’s hidden rum when it fell into the fire pit, only to be revived in a pit of Gaius’ worst smelling hangover cure, and then burst into flames all over again. 

At least that would be Merlin’s reaction if he found out Uther were his father. He would also want to be alone. As Morgana probably did. 

Merlin stood at her closed door and closed his eyes. He wanted to leave her to her peace. He really did. He wanted to listen to the traitorous thump and follow the tug in his chest that lead him in the other direction. The spell that turned his toes back to Arthur’s chambers. 

Only, the feeling pulled at him with more than one string. A second aching pulse took up residency somewhere lower. A queasy, dangerous, heady thrumming that swayed his body forward. Rather than the incessant tug of the spell in his chest, it caressed up his spine and into his hair and over his chin and swirled along his lips. The ghost of Arthur’s yearning fingers curled into his jaw and tilted his aching chin up, teasing those lips into a painful pucker. 

Merlin shook his head hard. 

No magic. No flash of light. No yellow or gold swirling in Arthur’s eyes. Just a memory that could never leave and never be returned. A crash down the side of a mountain. Fingers hurriedly clawing for purchase and a desperate body clinging to every moment it has left. And for what? 

The act was done. The domino of damage flicked into a landslide. All at the word of a horrendous witch whose word could not be trusted. 

A kiss. Something so simple. Yet it left Merlin hollow and heavy with truths revealed without the aide of any potion. 

That he wanted more than the lies the whisper of magic fed to his heart. That he wanted to want that kiss with his own will and not the will of a few words scribbled on a piece of apartment. That the spell was not the only part of him that wanted Arthur. Not the only part of him that wanted Arthur’s reaction to be real and not a spot of hidden magic he had yet to discover. 

The weight gnawing from within came from the gain of affection from his beloved and the distinctive loss of opportunities that could never be. Something that was never meant to be his. Grief that was never supposed to be his. Another sorrow to add onto the pile that was his life. 

Here he was. Standing in front of Morgana’s door. Someone who deserved to grieve the loss of her little remaining freedom, any safety she may have felt, and the future she had planned for herself. He was not here to comfort her this time. He was here because Prisca was not in her room. Because Merlin needed to find out if Morgana was also under a love spell and needed to trick her into telling him the truth. Because it was his destiny to lie and hurt every single person he ever cared for in his life. 

Merlin’s eyes flashed open and he growled. Inhuman and angry and hurt. He slashed his hands out and gripped the closest item in hand. Fabric hanging from the wall screamed as it tore. It fluttered to the ground in messy heap. The ropes that clung to it swung noisily against the stone. 

Merlin panted as he glared down at the ground. 

Morgana’s door opened with a screech. 

Merlin closed his eyes and willed his tears to recede. He could do this. He had to do this. 

“Emrys?” Prisca’s high pitched, horribly screechy voice echoed in the empty hall. The magical name loud enough to be the calling blast of the horns of battle. “If you want to redecorate, you’ll have to wait until tomorrow.” 

Merlin swallowed down his tears. The flash of rage that burst through his chest and all manner of thumping, tugging, and caressing was enough to have his body tense and ready to snap. Ready to catch this fucking spider in his trap and squish her beneath his boots. 

Prisca blinked at him like an owl too stupid to stop. She pouted towards the room behind her and whispered in a dramatically loud mockery of politeness. “I just got her to go to sleep. The poor thing. The lady-” She flung her bony fingers over her gaping mouth and shook her head. “Oh, silly me. I keep doing that.” She corrected herself, “The princess has a lot to deal with but sleep should not be one of them.” She dragged her gaze up and down Merlin’s wound body and licked her lips. “You’ll have to spend your night elsewhere. Have you seen prince Arthur? I’m sure he-”

Arthur’s name slipping through the hole in her face was the final straw. 

Merlin straightened his body and dragged his gaze up and down Prisca’s frame. She was still dressed for the celebrations. Morgana’s gown hanging off her shoulders. A pair of delicate shoes clutching to her hooves. The bit of red she used to paint her lips smeared along her chin. It brought a smile to Merlin’s face. 

“Elsewhere?” Merlin interrupted her. He tilted his head outside. “I’ve yet to actually celebrate anything this Beltane. Perhaps a walk outdoors would do me some good.” 

Prisca’s brow scrunched. It made the few wrinkles she had only the more apparent. “A drink or two as well. Maybe find that stable boy or a maid to fuck.” She curled her mouth around and sized him up. “You are in need of some loosening up. That is, if you heart will let you.” 

Merlin's jaw clenched. “Come on then.” He rolled his head towards the fire and swung his body away. 

“What?” Prisca’s voice came soft and fast. 

The insecure lilt tugged at the corners of Merlin’s mouth. “I said come on.” 

The hinge on the door squeaked as the door shut. Prisca’s shoes slipped against the floor. “Why?”

Merlin shrugged and started walking. He muttered, “Because I can’t get rid of you.” 

They passed the bonfire on the outskirts of a mass of people gossiping about their new princess. They loved her, of course. All talk of Morgana was concern over her wellbeing. The blame was on Uther. The concern was in the preparations for some sort of coronation. 

Wait until they heard about the wedding. 

Merlin snatched a drink off one of the crates and downed the contents in one go. He could hear Prisca following him. He looked back once, just to be sure it was her, and her eyes were alight with curiosity. Her mouth curled into a smile as she stared at him as she had when they were in those dungeons and that spider bit her arm. 

Merlin stomped through the trees off the path out of sight of the partygoers. A few had paired off to fornicate beneath the bushes but Merlin left them to their business. 

“I know the festival calls for it,” Prisca teased warily as they found themselves in a small clearing, “But you haven't brought me out here to have your way with me, have you?” She laughed sharply and stepped into his space. She delicately dropped her hand on his chest and slipped closer. “I suppose I was planning to have my way with you in the first place. Though I planned for you to loosen me more than the other way around. Still, I’m sure we can work something out-”

Merlin _shoved_. His magic jumped from his palm without his permission and added an extra boost to his push. 

Prisca tripped backwards. There was a crack as the heel of one of her delicate shoes snapped. 

Merlin whipped out the blade hidden in his boot. The silver tip gleamed in the light of the moon. His yearning fingers clutched desperately at the hilt. 

Prisca’s mouth opened. Shock only lasted the moment. Instantly her face lit up and she condescendingly tilted her chin up at him. The moon’s blue light made her red gown black. “You have magic!” She chuckled warmly and threw up her hands with less finesse than she usually faked. “Why are you holding that measly looking thing?”

“I hate you!” The vehemence of Merlin's own words surprised him. The blade wobbled as he thrust it forward and advanced towards Prisca. He held the gleaming edge to her throat, over the wrap curled around her neck and under the soft skin of her jaw. Individual yellow hairs curled over metal and fell to the earth. Sliced between heaving breaths. 

Prisca grasped his hand in hers and curled the knife upwards. 

Merlin grit his teeth to hold back the burning flood of rage. Red and black spots dotted at the edge of his vision, blending in with the edges of Prisca’s dress. 

Prisca waited until his eyes were on her. The empty void of nothing hidden behind her eyes spooled to the surface. Cruel and calculating. She searched his soul and licked her lips, eating up the pain written on his face. “Then why don’t you kiss me?”

The rage surged in a burst. Merlin shoved all his might into the blade still wrapped in both their hands. 

Prisca thrust her leg up and impaled Merlin’s gut with her knee. With the force of a incensed troll, she pushed. 

Merlin stumbled back but kept his body upright and kept the blade securely in his palm. After all, Arthur would never give him a weapon without adding a dramatic speech about safety and a hundred unnecessary drills outside of training. Thoughtful prat. Merlin knew how to wield a weapon and how to keep a firm stance. Despite that, he coughed to pull air into his lungs. His body would not take the breath. Gaius explained to a knight how to get the breath back after a hit to the lungs but the memory came fuzzy. 

“Did you do it then?” Prisca cheered. She stood tall and leaned against a tree to undo the ties on her shoes, shoving away the broken pair. Completely unfazed and entirely confident. As if Merlin were an aggressive toddler she felt the need to cajole or the fly flapping about her trap before dinner. 

Leather felt warm. As if it still held the imprint of pulsating flesh from a previous owner. Arthur’s hand wrapped around his, reminding him to loosen his grip and always keep an eye on the enemy. 

Prisca cooed when Merlin’s eyes flashed up to her. She swung her shoes in front of her body and clicked them together. “You did! So soon! How? How on earth did you get Arthur to kiss you?!”

Magic words left Merlin’s lips but he could not recall which spell he chose. It pulsed like fire. Gold flames spiraled towards Prisca’s torso and swept around her chest without a lick of heat burning her. 

Prisca’s eyes were wide as the magic held her against the tree. Completely immobile. 

The sight of Prisca so helpless made Merlin’s jaw twitch. It was the same look she had when her father dragged her from town. Surprise and shock and fear. 

Prisca was evil. She was. She deserved this.

Merlin grit his teeth and released his spell.

Prisca slumped down but did not move from the tree. She tugged at the fabric of her dress, caught on the bark behind her. “You are going to ruin my dress.”

Merlin lunged towards her with his blade raised, crushing broken twigs beneath his boots. “You ruined my life!” 

Prisca thrust out her leg and kicked him aside with the aid of the tree behind her. 

Merlin’s injured leg twisted painfully and he fell to his hands and knees. 

“You are being dramatic,” Prisca complained. “Your life is not ruined.”

Merlin huffed in angry pants through his nose. His sides ached painfully as he forced the air in and out. Fingernails scratched through the mud as fingers curled into the grass. Magic sparkled along the blade and pulled it into the air. It zipped behind him without having to track its movements. 

The knife slid into place, hovering against the fabric twined around her spindly neck and pinning her to the tree again. Nowhere near enough armour to project her from a deadly cut.

A need throbbed up and down Merlin's body. A beat that chanted at him to end her. It was the spell, it was the memory of Arthur’s lips, of Gwen’s lifeless form, of Morgana’s tears, and purely of Merlin’s will. A dark and carnal desire that bubbled from inside and begged his magic to slice her life away. To save all of his family and friends. 

Merlin slowly lifted himself to full height and turned to face her. 

Prisca’s jaw tightened as the hilt of the knife bounced against her chin. Her eyes widened. She could not hide the fear still lingering there. Her pupils blown wide and eyebrows twitched. 

“You have a choice,” Merlin hissed. “Leave for your land and never return."

"I'm not going anywhere. The gates closed at sunset. It is past sunset. I could not return even if I wanted to."

"Leave or I kill you now.”

Prisca’s head shook back and forth. The hilt of the knife thumped against her jaw. “Are you forgetting something?” Her hands flexed to fists at her sides. “Your mum? Gaius? Arthur? You cannot kill me, Emrys!”

“Are you forgetting?” Merlin’s eyes flared as the blade steadied. He suddenly burst forward, making Prisca flinch. He shoved a finger into her chest and stabbed her as deep as he could with a single digit. “You are no longer in a Pendragon’s favour. You committed patricide. You have been as good as banished. No one would miss you. If they did, they may simply think you died on the way back to your home.”

“You are forgetting Morgana Pendragon,” Prisca said. Her eyes flickered to the knife as it spun in slow circles, the tip stinging the edge of her skin. “She is a princess and will grant me stay.”

“We all lose people,” Merlin echoed harsh but true words. 

Morgana had Gwen back now. Found. A true friend who had been at Morgana’s side through it all. Not a falsity sewing lies and gossip in order to sprout a friendship with only the strength of a few days. Morgana had larger and more important concerns than the disappearance of someone who would never need to be replaced. Gwen was irreplaceable. Prisca was a fool to think otherwise. 

Merlin copied the small, open, savage smile Prisca so often adopted. “She will get over your loss.”

Prisca glared at him and shoved against his finger, the blade catching on the edge of her dress and tearing the fabric. She ignored it and shoved a finger at his chest in an inhuman growl. “Can you be so narrow minded?” She scoffed and looked at the moon. She shook her head and held her arms out, as if to offer the broken mess of shoes and bark. “I have ensured magic will live in the royal court of Camelot. A path has been laid out for the future of this kingdom. Uther will fall from grace in his lies. Arthur will take his rightful place. Morgana will be an ally to magic at his side. Gwen’s absence has reminded Arthur just how dangerous true love can be. He will marry for diplomacy and stay focused on his kingdom. I have ensured all of this while taking all suspicion away from you! You were going to run out on the field and do magic with all of Camelot watching! I _saved_ you!”

Merlin stumbled back. A branch too big to break tripped him back another. 

Lies. Evil. Manipulator. 

“You threatened my family!” Merlin yelled back. “You put me under a love spell! You nearly killed my friend! You killed your father! You drugged our king! You have told me nothing but lies about yourself. Yet you claim to be helping me? To be ensuring the prophecy? How can you possibly believe that?!”

Prisca stepped away from the tree and brought herself level to Merlin with the aided height of the branch. “Then why do you not kill me? Why not grip the blade with your own two hands and slice my neck open? Why give me the option to flee?”

The knife continued to hover just over Prisca’s shoulder. Still slowly turning. 

“I kissed him,” Merlin whispered. 

The words made his heart thump with inappropriate delight. Alone in the woods facing down a monster and yet he was sitting in front of a warm crackling fire with fur hugging his body. Three words. A magic love spell all their own turning his scowl into a heartbroken smile. 

Merlin cleared his throat and forced himself to focus beyond the warmth of the spell or the tug of his gut. “The bond is complete.”

Prisca tilted her head. Her covered horns no longer shadowed his face. She squinted let loose a brutal laugh. “You’re blushing.” 

“Arthur, he-” Merlin looked away and then immediately felt guilty at his poor training and looked back again. He swallowed the words threatening her life and tried again. “The bond is complete. Does that mean Arthur is under the spell as well?” He cleared his throat. “Will he need to kiss someone he hates to break it?” 

Prisca rolled her eyes and tossed her shoes carelessly to the ground. “We have been through this. Arthur has no magic and cannot say the words. Did he pass out as you did? A mortal like him would be out for a week. Just because he kissed you willingly does not mean…” She paused. Her jaw dropped instantly. “Well then.” She smiled. Sly and vicious. “That is very interesting.”

Merlin’s eyes flashed. 

Prisca fell from the branch and onto her back. 

Merlin straddled her body, stole the knife from the air, and aimed it within his hands against her throat. “Answer the question.”

Prisca smiled sweetly. She lifted a hand and pat his injured leg roughly. “Arthur is not under any spell.”

Not the spell. Confirmation no signs of magic were missed. 

She could be lying. 

A dagger to her throat and she could still be lying. 

What if she was not lying?

Flames stirred in Merlin’s belly. Hot flashes that licked up his spine and brought tears to his eyes. Sweat pooled at his temple and trickled down his face. He gripped and re-gripped the hilt of the knife. Searching for Arthur’s hand in his. Searching for the answer to the question he would never dare ask. 

If Arthur was not under the spell, why did he kiss Merlin? 

“Tell me,” Prisca cooed. Her hand slipped around his aching thigh and trailed up to his hip. Her fingers teased at the sensitive sweat slick skin just above his trousers. The taunt of a teasing lover. “How was he?” The tip of her fingernail dug into his stomach as if it were her own blade. She scratched along the line of his trousers towards the center of his stomach and dragged the pad of her thumb along the coarse hairs leading to his groin. “Did you get to finish? Or will you be needing help with that?”

Merlin slapped her hand away and swiped the back of his palm over his face, shoving the sweat from his eyes. “What are you?” 

Prisca shoved herself up to her elbows. She tipped her head away from Merlin's blade. The edge caught on the embroidery of her scarf. “Why don’t you kiss me, Merlin? This pain you feel.” She pouted out her lips. Slowly and as seductive as a vole, Prisca swept her loose fingers up her torso and covered her chest. Brown lines of dirt caught between the folds of fabric. Grotesque claw marks forever stained something that was once beautiful. She swirled her fingers beneath the scarf laying haphazardly at her shoulders. “It could go away if you just kissed me.” Her face contorted in disbelief as she looked back up at the moon again. “You hate me. Break your bond. That’s all it would take.”

Revulsion smacked him square in the gut. The urge to throw up all over her already ruined dress was strong. The spell screamed in his heart. It locked itself around his magic and pulled taught, not allowing him to move his muscles more than a shudder. As if he really would kiss her. 

Hatred. It would work. 

No more wandering eyes searching for the gleam of gold on the training field. No more lusting quests to lay face first in the Prince’s sheets and roll into the molds left from his sleep. No more longing to stare into the depths of clear blue eyes in an attempt to swat away any clouds. No more titillating dreams of salacious scenes. No more aching pull throbbing in his chest begging for fleeting moments alone. No more fire every time their skin touched. 

No more. Gone. 

Especially after the kiss. 

The moments caused by this spell were done. The moments before, if they had ever even been real, could never be again. 

Arthur was to be married. Merlin was to watch. Those were the only truths. 

They could never be close. That was how it had always been and how it would always be. The lies weaved from these few days would become forgotten memories. Forgotten by demand or decree. Another burden in the void between them filled with duty and magic and kingdoms and dragons. 

So what if Arthur kissed him? The magic may want Merlin to keep the spell going in some sort of attempt to keep Arthur happy. As if Merlin's love actually did something for the prince. As if his royal ego needed more prodding. But Arthur was not happy. Arthur may have kissed him but he was miserable while he did it. Merlin’s love was not welcome even if there was some chance of reciprocation. Arthur was a king to be, first and foremost. 

So what if Merlin kissed him back? It was only the spell. It fogged his mind. It wanted him to believe there was more for some self-deprecating, masochistic need to be constantly miserable. That would not be the case. The spell would be gone and he would be embarrassed but he could push through that. After it was gone he would not miss the love pounding in his chest or the joy of its return in his heart. They would be memories of another Merlin. One that never existed. Merlin was to be Emrys, first and foremost. As he left behind the naive farm boy to take on his destiny, he would leave behind the lovesick fool. It was never real. It was all the magic. It was. 

It was for the best. It had to be. 

Merlin leaned forward. He brought the knife down and lined the tip up at the base of her neck, where a bit of exposed flesh gleamed in the moonlight. Blood immediately bubbled to the tip as he pressed it in. His eyes glowed a dangerous gold. “You will tell me what kind of creature you are.”

Prisca swallowed hard enough to move the fabric around her neck. “I’m done talking now.” She slapped the dagger and shoved herself upright with more force than Merlin anticipated. 

Merlin fell back on his heels, trapping her legs under his weight. 

Prisca struggled with all her might to pull free. She slapped at Merlin’s arms and legs and twisted her body on the ground. 

Merlin’s magic was more than happy to pin her with a flick of the wrist. He shoved his weight firmly atop her torso, straddled her hips, and replaced the blade again. His voice was loud and commanding and worthy of the royal title she insisted on calling him by. “Stop playing your games and answer me!” 

“If you are going to kill me, do it now.” Prisca tossed her head up and tilted her mouth towards Merlin’s. “If you are going to kiss me, do it now. Take what you need!”

Merlin’s lips rolled with his stomach. 

Enough blood trickled from the wound slowly forming on her chest that a trail of the blackened red goo pooled over her collarbone and dribbled over her shoulder.

Prisca’s eyes flickered. Her chest heaved. 

Merlin did not move. 

Prisca’s eyes closed. Her body sank into the grass. A defeated sigh rushed from her pouting lips. “I’ll show you.” 

Suddenly, Prisca grabbed hold of Merlin’s hand and thrust the blade in herself. The trickle turned into a tide. 

Merlin pulled the knife out. 

Blood gushed hot and wet.

Prisca cried out in pain. 

Merlin’s face crumbled in horror. He scrambled backwards and tossed the knife to the ground. 

This was not how it was supposed to go. He never intended to use the knife. He had killed with a blade but never this small. Never close enough to see the spark in their eyes. 

Merlin scrambled back up her body and pressed both his hands down on the gaping wound. 

Prisca groaned. 

Merlin put more weight on her chest but the blood kept coming. A spouting geyser. He stood no chance. It was too close to her heart. 

Good. She deserved to die. She did. 

She did. 

Despite the grimace of pain twisting her face, Prisca lifted the side of her mouth in a sloppy smile. She slapped a weakened hand on top of Merlin’s piled on her chest. She shook her head softly and her eyes rolled. “Emrys,” she whispered, somehow equally forlorn and sardonic.

The wrap curled around her head started to glow. Gold light shone from under the openings. A pulse that started slow but quickly picked up pace until it was one solid bright glow of gold. Under the red fabric the shape of her horns beamed. Gold burned brighter and whiter until the edge of the fabric smoked. A small fire flickered to life. The smell of burnt hair wafted into the air. 

Merlin’s mouth fell open. His body tilted back before he remembered he had to keep pressure on the wound. He looked down to find there was no wound beneath his palm. Only a puddle of muddy blood soaking into his skin. 

The glow faded. 

Prisca sighed happily. She pat Merlin’s hand and undid the wrap around her head and the scarf around her neck and let the burned fabric fall to the forest floor. She grimaced as she slowly wormed her way out from under Merlin’s body. 

Unconcerned. 

There was no hole in her chest. No bruises around her throat. No spider bite on her arm. No evidence Merlin had ever had any influence on her at all. 

Prisca smirked down at Merlin, pat him on the shoulder, and walked out of the forest without saying another word. 

* * *

Blood was stubborn under the fingernails. It liked to cling with the mud and the dirt. 

Merlin knew about blood. He had plenty on his hands before. 

This blood he wanted gone. At any cost. He rubbed his body raw in the freezing cold of the stream nearest to Camelot. Every inch of him hurt as he submerged and held his breath longer than he probably aught. 

Late as it was, Merlin could not sleep. He laid on his back on his bedroll staring at the ceiling. Gaius was snoring in his room. Gwen was on the cot for at least another night. 

What creature could possibly do that to themselves and survive? What did he miss? Did Morgana know more? Was she under that spell? He never got to ask. Did it even matter if she was to marry Arthur? How could he face Arthur tomorrow? Why did he not kiss Prisca and remove the curse? What would Prisca do next? Would she retaliate? 

“Merlin,” Gwen whispered from above. 

Merlin blinked hard and shook himself from his thoughts. “Yes?”

“Stop thinking.” Gwen leaned over the edge of her cot and looked down at him. Despite being half asleep, she had a twinkle in her eye and she smiled. “Your brain is making too much noise.”

“Sorry,” Merlin whispered. He gave her the best smile he could muster. 

Gwen dropped a limp hand down and poked his still freezing arm. “What’s wrong?”

It was all so much. He did not know where to start or where to stop. 

Prisca could now die without Merlin’s implication in her murder but she apparently could not die. She still -as she reminded him in between promising she was on his side- had hold over his family and friends. 

Gwen’s recovering smile only served to remind him how true that proved to be. 

“Do you remember where you were?” Merlin suddenly asked. His voice was far too loud and he grimaced. 

“Where I was?” Gwen asked. She propped her head on her hand and frowned down at him. “What do you mean?” 

Merlin swallowed. How was he supposed to ask her this without endangering her? 

It as magic. Everyone in Camelot was terrified of magic. If Gwen admitted to being in a magical place it was as good as asking for the pyre. 

It was why Merlin found himself in this position often with her. Her kind smiles and understanding and supportive nature. If he told her the truth, all of it, she would listen. She would not tell on him. But she would know. She would be in constant danger. She had her own burdens to carry. 

Merlin had his own. 

“Nothing.” Merlin shook his head. “Your dreams.” 

Gwen stared at him without blinking. As if she had fallen asleep again without closing her eyes. “Is everything alright?” 

Too smart. She was always too smart for his lies. 

Fault him, but Merlin found his heart squeezing with the loneliness that came from a friend so close and too far. There used to be a time where he could hold his friends close. But Will was dead. And it was hard to remember why that was not his fault. 

“It’s-” Merlin started and stopped. The words were leaking out but he could filter them through. “I find myself in a situation.”

“Yes,” Gwen said. She nodded sagely. Calmly. Patiently. “Situations are tricky things.”

Merlin’s eyes prickled. He swallowed down the sob that had been sitting patiently at the back of his throat ever since he left the safety of Arthur’s warm chambers. “Everything is out of my control and just when I think I have a handle on things it goes wrong.”

Gwen dropped her hand and ran her fingers over his again. Her touch was welcome and warm. Soothing the racks silently shaking his body. “I heard Lady Prisca is not leaving.”

Merlin bit down on his cheek. Of course. Deer-fucker was going to miss his doe. 

“Merlin,” Gwen said slowly, “You know of my-” She hummed and squeezed his arm. “Situation. If anyone is to understand you, it is me. To want someone who is above your station that you must see every day is a cruel and bitter feeling. Especially when the sentiment is returned.” Her voice broke as she sucked in a breath. “To know they will marry-” 

Merlin closed his eyes. Arthur’s lips were still on his. The warmth of it would never fade. 

Gwen could never know. 

“The marriage of Arthur and Morgana is only a rumour, Gwen,” Merlin said as kindly as he could. Detached from the words. 

“Rumours hold truth,” Gwen countered. She pulled her hand back and tucked herself firmly back in the blanket on her cot. As if she could hide from the reality of her beloved and her closest friend marrying. “I did not mean to make this about me. What I’m trying to say is that I understand and that you can talk to me.”

A vice upon his heart. It was painfully taught. 

“I know.” Merlin reached up and squeezed the bit of her shoulder poking out of the blankets. “I feel lost. There is so much happening around me that I cannot control.”

Gwen squeezed his fingers. “Find what you can. Whatever you can control, take charge of it. Even if it is as simple as your smile.” She rolled back onto her side to give him one last warm smile. “And know you can count on your friends. Whatever you need we’ll be there. No questions asked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is that... is that hope? Did I leave you guys with hopE?! noooo that doesn't sound like me. 
> 
> Thank you for all your kind words! I love you. I appreciate you. I mean it.


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